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KATHAYAN SLAYE, 



OTHER PAPERS 



CONNECTED WITH MISSIONARY LIFE. 



BY 

x/ 

EMILY JUDSON. 

& 

BOSTON: 
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS. 

MDCCCLIII. 




\4P 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by . 
EMILY JUDSON, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



The Library 

GF CoNOPK^s 
WASHINGTON 



TJIURSTOX, TORRT, AND EMERSON, PKIXTRKS. 



TO THE 

REV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D., 

WHOSE ETHICS MINGLED LARGELY IN THE DISCIPLINARY 
INFLUENCES OF MY SCHOOL-DAYS ; WHOSE INSPIRITING, 
LIFE-ENNOBLING THEOLOGY CHEERED ME THROUGH SOME 
TANGLED PASSES, IN MATURER YEARS ,* AND TO WHOSE 
RECENT FRIENDSHIP I AM INDEBTED FOR MANY A SILVER 
BORDER TO THE CLOUDS OF SORROW, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME 

IS RESPECTFULLY AND MOST GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED, 

BY 

EMILY JUDSON. 



CONTENTS 

The Kathayan Slave . . • 1 

Mee Shway-ee . 25 

Madness of The Missionary Enterprise . . 28 

Song of Maulmain .... 56 

A Legend of the Maizeen . . . .58 

The Jungle Boy ... 86 

Tribute to Rev. Daniel Hascall . . .93 

The most efficient Missionaries . < 96 

Misapprehension # 102 

The Wan Reapers . . . . 108 

The Heathen better than Christians . 110 

Mint, Anise and Cummin ... 123 

The Missionary . 133 

Bodau-Parah . . . . . 134 
Death of Boardman .... 151 

Wayside Preaching . . 156 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



At the commencement of the English and 
Burmese war of 1824, all the Christians (called 
4 hat-wearers,' in contradistinction from the tur- 
baned heads of the Orientals) residing at Ava, 
were thrown unceremoniously into the Death- 
prison. Among them were both Protestant and 
Roman Catholic missionaries ; some few repu- 
table European traders ; and criminals shad- 
owed from the laws of Christendom c under the 
sole of the golden foot.' These, Americans, 
English, Spanish, Portuguese, Greek and Ar- 
menian, were all huddled together in one prison, 
with villains of every grade, — the thief, the 
assassin, the bandit, or all three in one ; con- 
stituting, in connection with countless other 
crimes, a blacker character than the inhabitant of 
a civilized land can picture. Sometimes stript 
1 



Z THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

of their clothing, sometimes nearly starved, load- 
ed with heavy irons, thrust into a hot, filthy, 
noisome apartment, with criminals for compan- 
ions and criminals for guards, compelled to see 
the daily torture, to hear the shriek of anguish 
from writhing victims, with death, death in some 
terribly detestable form, always before them, a 
severer state of suffering can scarcely be im- 
agined. 

The Burmese had never been known to spare 
the lives of their war-captives ; and though the 
little band of foreigners could scarcely be called 
prisoners of war, yet this well-known custom, 
together with their having been thrust into the 
death-prison, from which there was no escape, 
except by a pardon from the king, cut off nearly 
every reasonable hope of rescue. But, (quite a 
new thing in the annals of Burmese history,) 
although some died from the intensity of their 
sufferings, no foreigner was wantonly put to 
death. Of those who were claimed by the En- 
glish at the close of the war, some one or two 
are yet living, with anklets and bracelets which 
they will carry to the grave with them, wrought 
in their flesh by the heavy iron. It may well 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



be imagined, that these men might unfold to us 
scenes of horror, incidents daily occurring under 
their own shuddering gaze, in comparison with 
which the hair-elevating legends of Ann Radcliff 
would become simple fairy tales. 

The death-prison at Ava was at that time a 
single large room, built of rough boards, without 
either window or door, and with but a thinly 
thatched roof to protect the wretched inmates 
from the blaze of a tropical sun. It was entered 
by slipping aside a single board, which consti- 
tuted a sort of sliding-door. Around the prison, 
inside the yard, were ranged the huts of the 
under-jailers, or Children of the Prison, and 
outside of the yard, close at hand, that of the 
head-jailer. These jailers must necessarily be 
condemned criminals, with a ring, the sign of 
outlawry, traced in the skin of the cheek, and 
the name of their crime engraved in the same 
manner upon the breast. The head-jailer was 
a tall, bony man, with sinews of iron ; wearing, 
when speaking, a malicious smirk, and given at 
times to a most revolting kind of jocoseness. 
When silent and quiet, he had a jaded, care- 
worn look ; but it was at the torture that he was 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



in his proper element. Then his face lighted 
up — became glad, furious, demoniac. His small 
black eyes glittered like those of a serpent ; 
his thin lips rolled back, displaying his toothless 
gums in front, with a long, protruding tusk on 
either side, stained black as ebony; his hollow, 
ringed cheeks seemed to contract more and more, 
and his breast heaved with convulsive delight 
beneath the fearful word — Man-Killer. The 
prisoners called him father, when he was present 
to enforce this expression of affectionate famili- 
arity ; but among themselves he was irreverently 
christened the Tiger-cat. 

One of the most active of the Children of the 
Prison, was a short, broad-faced man, labelled 
Thief, who, as well as the Tiger, had a peculiar 
talent in the way of torturing ; and so fond was 
he of the use of the whip, that he often missed 
his count, and zealously exceeded the number 
of lashes ordered by the city governor. The 
wife of this man was a most odious creature, 
filthy, bold, impudent, cruel, and like her hus- 
band, delighting in torture. Her face was not 
only deeply pitted with small-pox, but so de- 
formed with leprosy, that the white cartilage of 



THE KATUAYAN SLAVE. O 

the nose was laid entirely bare ; from her large 
mouth shone rows of irregular teeth, black as 
ink ; her hair, which was left entirely to the care 
of nature, was matted in large black masses 
about her head ; and her manner, under all this 
hideous ugliness, was insolent and vicious. 
They had two children — little vipers, well load- 
ed with venom ; and by their vexatious mode of 
annoyance, trying the tempers of the prisoners 
more than was in the power of the mature tor- 
turers. 

As will readily be perceived, the security of 
this prison was not in the strength of the struc- 
ture, but in the heavy manacles, and the living 
wall. The lives of the jailers depended entirely 
on their fidelity ; and fidelity involved strict 
obedience to orders, however ferocious. As for 
themselves, they could not escape ; they had 
nowhere to go ; certain death awaited them 
everywhere, for they bore on cheek and breast 
the ineffaceable proof of their outlawry. Their 
only safety was at their post ; and there was no 
safety there in humanity, even if it were possible 
for such degraded creatures to have a spark of 
humanity left. So inclination united with in- 



6 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

terest to make them what they really were — 
demons. 

The arrival of a new prisoner was an incident 
calculated to excite but little interest in the 
hat-wearers, provided he came in turban and 
waistcloth. But one morning, there was brought 
in a young man, speaking the Burmese broken- 
ly, and with the soft accent of the north, who 
at once attracted universal attention. He was 
tall and erect, with a mild, handsome face, 
bearing the impress of inexpressible suffering ; 
a complexion slightly tinted with the rich brown 
of the east ; a fine, manly carriage, and a man- 
ner which, even there, was both graceful and 
dignified. 

'Who is he?' was the interpretation of the 
inquiring glances exchanged among those who 
had no liberty to speak ; and then eye asked of 
eye, ' What can he have done ? — he, so gentle, 
so mild, so manly, that even these wretches, 
who scarcely know the name of pity and respect, 
seem to feel both for him?' There was, in 
truth, something in the countenance of the new 
prisoner which, without asking for sympathy, 
involuntarily enforced it. It was not amiability, 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



though his dark, soft, beautiful eye was full of a 
noble sweetness ; it was not resignation; it was 
not apathy; it was hopelessness, deep, utter, 
immovable, suffering hopelessness. Very young, 
and apparently not ambitious or revengeful, 
what crime could this interesting stranger have 
committed to draw down 'the golden foot' with 
such crushing weight upon his devoted head? 
He seemed utterly friendless, and without even 
the means of obtaining food; for, as the day 
advanced, no one came to see him ; and the 
officer who brought him had left no directions. 
He did not, however, suffer from this neglect, 
for Madam Thief, (most wonderful to relate!) 
actually shared so deeply in the universal sym- 
pathy, as to bring him a small quantity of boiled 
rice and water. 

Toward evening, the Woon-bai, a governor, 
or rather Mayor of the city, entered the prison, 
his bold, lion-like face as open and unconcerned 
as ever, but with something of unusual bustling 
in his manner. 

' Where is he ? ' he cried sternly ; ' where is 
he? this son of Kathay? this dog, villain, 



8 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

traitor ! where is he ? Aha ! only one pair of 
irons ? Put on five ! do you hear ? five V 

The Woon-bai remained till his orders were 
executed, and the poor Kathayan was loaded 
with five pairs of fetters ; and then he went out, 
frowning on one and smiling on another ; while 
the Children of the Prison watched his coun- 
tenance and manner, as significant of what was 
expected of them. The prisoners looked at 
each other, and shook their heads in commis- 
eration. 

The next day the feet of the young Kathayan, 
in obedience to some new order, were placed 
in the stocks, which raised them about eighteen 
inches from the ground ; and the five pairs of 
fetters were all disposed on the outer side of the 
plank, so that their entire weight fell upon the 
ankles. The position was so painful that each 
prisoner, some from memory, some from sym- 
pathetic apprehension, shared in the pain when 
he looked at the sufferer. 

During this day, one of the missionaries, who 
had been honored with an invitation, which it 
was never prudent to refuse, to the hut of the 
Thief, learned something of the history of the 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 9 

young man, and his crime. His home, it was 
told him, was among the rich hills of Kathay, 
as they range far northward, where the tropic 
sun loses the intense fierceness of his blaze, and 
makes the atmosphere soft and luxurious, as 
though it were mellowing beneath the same 
amber sky which ripens the fruits, and gives 
their glow to the flowers. What had been, his 
rank in his own land, the jailer's wife did not 
know. Perhaps he had been a prince, chief of 
the brave band conquered by the superior force 
of the Burmans ; or a hunter among the spicy 
groves and deep-wooded jungles, lithe as the 
tiger which he pursued from lair to lair, and 
free as the flame-winged bird of the sun that 
circled above him ; or perhaps his destiny had 
been a humbler one, and he had but followed his 
goats as they bounded fearlessly from ledge to 
ledge, and plucked for food the herbs upon his 
native hills. He had been brought away by a 
marauding party, and presented as a slave to 
the brother of the queen. This Men4hah-gyee, 
the Great Prince, as he was called, by way of 
pre-eminence, had risen, through the influence 
of his sister, from the humble condition of a 



10 THE KATHAVAN SLAVE. 

fishmonger, to be the Richelieu of the nation. 
Unpopular from his mean origin, and still more 
unpopular from the acts of brutality to which 
the intoxication of power had given rise, the 
sympathy excited by the poor Kathayan in the 
breasts of these wretches may easily be ac- 
counted for. It was not pity or mercy, but 
hatred. Anywhere else, the sufferer's sad, hand- 
some face, and mild, uncomplaining manner, 
would have enlisted sympathy ; but here, they 
would scarcely have seen the sadness, or beauty, 
or mildness, except through the medium of a 
passion congenial to their own natures. 

Among the other slaves of Men-thah-gyee, 
was a young Kathay girl of singular beauty. 
She was, so said Madam the Thief, a bundle 
of roses, set round with the fragrant blossoms 
of the charnpac tree ; her breath was like that 
of the breezes when they come up from their 
dalliance with the spicy daughters of the islands 
of the south ; her voice had caught its rich 
cadence from the musical gush of the silver 
fountain, which wakes among the green of her 
native hills ; her hair had been braided from the 
glossy raven plumage of the royal edolius ; her 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 11 

eyes were twin stars looking out from cool 
springs, all fringed with the long, tremulous 
reeds of the jungle ; and her step was as the 
free, graceful bound of the wild antelope. On 
the subject of her grace, her beauty, and her 
wondrous daring, the jailer's wife could not be 
sufficiently eloquent. And so this poor, proud, 
simple-souled maiden, this diamond from the 
rich hills of Kathay, destined to glitter for an 
hour or two on a prince's bosom, unsubdued 
even in her desolation, had dared to bestow her 
affections with the uncalculating lavishness of 
conscious heart-freedom. And the poor wretch, 
lying upon his back in the death-prison, his feet 
fast in the stocks and swelling and purpling 
beneath the heavy irons, had participated in 
her crime ; had lured her on, by tender glances 
and by loving words, inexpressibly sweet in their 
mutual bondage, to irretrievable destruction. 
"What fears, what hopes winged by fears, what 
tremulous joys, still hedged in by that same 
crowd of fears, what despondency, what revul- 
sions of impotent anger and daring, what 
weeping, what despair must have been theirs ! 
Their tremblings and rejoicings, their mad pro- 



12 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

jects, growing each day wilder and more dan- 
gerous — since madness alone could have given 
rise to anything like hope — are things left to 
imagination ; for there was none to relate the 
heart-history of the two slaves of Men-thah- 
gyee. Yet there were some hints of a first 
accidental meeting under the shadow of the 
mango and tamarind trees, where the sun lighted 
up, by irregular gushes, the waters of the little 
lake in the centre of the garden, and the rustle 
of leaves seemed sufficient to drown the accents 
of their native tongues. So they looked, spoke, 
their hearts bounded, paused, trembled with 
soft home-memories — they whispered on, and 
they were lost. Poor slaves ! 

Then at evening, when the dark-browed 
maidens of the golden city, gathered, with their 
earthen vessels about the well, there, shaded by 
the thick clumps of bamboo, with the free sky 
overhead, the green earth beneath, and the 
songs and laughter of the merry girls ringing in 
their ears, so like their own home, the home 
which they had lost forever — oh, what a rare, 
sweet, dangerous meeting-place for those who 
should not, and yet must be lovers ! 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 13 

Finally came a day fraught with illimitable 
consequences ; the day when the young slave, 
not yet admitted to the royal harem, should 
become more than ever the property of her 
master. And now deeper grew their agony, 
more uncontrollable their madness, wilder and 
more daring their hopes, with every passing 
moment. Not a man in Ava, but would have 
told them that escape was impossible ; and yet, 
goaded on by love and despair, they attempted 
the impossibility. They had countrymen in 
the city, and, under cover of night, they fled to 
them. Immediately the minister sent out his 
myrmidons — they were tracked, captured, and 
brought back to the palace. 

' And what became of the poor girl?' inquir- 
ed the missionary with much interest. 

The woman shuddered, and beneath her scars 
and the swarthiness of her skin, she became 
deadly pale. 

< There is a cellar, Tsayah,' at last she whis- 
pered, still shuddering, ' a deep cellar, that no 
one has seen, but horrible cries come from it 
sometimes, and two nights ago, for three hours, 
three long hours — such shrieks ! Amai-ai ! 



14 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

what shrieks ! And they say that he was there, 
Tsayah, and saw and heard it all. That is the 
reason that his eyes are blinded and his ears 
benumbed. A great many go into that cellar, 
but none ever come out again — none but the 
doomed like him. It is — it is like the West 
Prison? she added, sinking her voice still lower, 
and casting an eager alarmed look about her. 
The missionary too shuddered, as much at the 
mention of this prison, as at the recital of the 
woman ; for it shut within its walls deep mys- 
teries, which even his jailers, accustomed as they 
were to torture and death, shrank from babbling 
of. 

The next day a cord was passed around the 
wrists of the young Kathayan, his arms jerked 
up into a position perpendicular with his pros- 
trate body, and the end of the cord fastened to 
a beam overhead. Still, though faint from the 
lack of food, parched with thirst, and racked 
with pain, for his feet were swollen and livid, 
not a murmur of complaint escaped his lips. 
And yet this patient endurance seemed scarcely 
the result of fortitude or heroism ; an observer 
would have said that the inner suffering was so 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 15 

great as to render that of the mere physical 
frame unheeded. There was the same expression 
of hopelessness, the same unvarying wretched- 
ness, too deep, too real, to think of giving itself 
utterance on the face as at his first entrance into 
the prison ; and except that he now and then 
fixed on one of the hopeless beings who regarded 
him in silent pity, a mournful, half-beseeching, 
half-vacant stare, this was all. 

That day passed away as others had done ; 
then came another night of dreams, in which 
loved ones gathered around the hearth-stone of 
a dear, distant home ; dreams broken by the 
clanking of chains, and the groans of the suffer- 
ing ; and then morning broke. There still hung 
the poor Kathayan ; his face slightly distorted 
with the agony he was suffering, his lips dry and 
parched, his cheek pallid and sunken, and his 
eyes wild and glaring. His breast swelled and 
heaved, and now and then a sob-like 'sigh burst 
forth involuntarily. When the Tiger entered, the 
eye of the young man immediately fastened 
on him, and a shiver passed through his frame. 
The old murderer went his usual rounds with 
great nonchalance ; gave an order here, a blow 



16 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

there, and cracked a malicious joke with a third ; 
smiling all the time that dark, sinister smile, 
which made him so much more hideous in the 
midst of his wickedness. At last he approached 
the Kathayan, who, with a convulsive move- 
ment, half raised himself from the ground at his 
touch, and seemed to contract like a shrivelled 
leaf. 

' Right ! right, my son ! ' said the old man, 
chuckling. ' You are expert at helping your- 
self, to be sure ; but then you need assistance. 
So — so — so!' and giving the cord three suc- 
cessive jerks, he succeeded, by means of his im- 
mense strength, in raising the Kathayan so that 
but the back of his head, as it fell downward, 
could touch the floor. There was a quick, short 
crackling of joints, and a groan escaped the pris- 
oner. Another groan followed, and then another* 
— and another — a heaving of the chest, a con- 
vulsive shiver, and for a moment he seemed lost. 
Human hearts glanced heavenward. ' God 
grant it ! Father of mercies, spare him farther 
agony ! ' It could not be. Gaspingly came the 
lost breath back again, quiveringly the soft eyes 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 17 

unclosed ; and the young Kathayan captive was 
fully awake to his misery. 

4 1 cannot die so — I cannot — so slow — so 
slow — so slow ! ' Hunger gnawed, thirst burned, 
fever revelled in his veins; the cord upon his 
wrists cut to the bone ; corruption had already 
commenced upon his swollen, livid feet ; the 
most frightful, torturing pains distorted his body, 
and wrung from him, groans and murmurings so 
pitiful, so harrowing, so full of anguish, that the 
unwilling listeners could only turn away their 
heads, or lift their eyes to each other's faces in 
mute horror. Not a word was exchanged among 
them — not a lip had power to give it utterance. 

' I cannot die so ! I cannot die so ! I cannot 
die so ! ' came the words, at first moaningly, 
and then prolonged to a terrible howl. And so 
passed another day, and another night, and still 
the- wretch* lived on. 

In the midst of their filth and smothering 
heat, the prisoners awoke from such troubled 
sleep as they could gain amid these horrors ; and 
those who could, pressed their feverish lips and 
foreheads to the crevices between the boards, to 
court the morning breezes. A lady, with a white 
2 



18 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

brow, and a lip whose delicate vermilion had 
not ripened beneath the skies of India, came 
with food to her husband. By constant impor- 
tunity had the beautiful ministering angel gain- 
ed this holy privilege. Her coming was like a 
gleam of sunlight — a sudden unfolding of the 
beauties of this bright earth to one born blind. 
She performed her usual tender ministry and 
departed. 

Day advanced to its meridian ; and once more 
but now hesitatingly, and as though he dreaded 
his task, the Tiger drew near the young Kathay- 
an. But the sufferer did not shrink from him 
as before. 

' Quick ! ' he exclaimed, greedily. ' Quick ! 
give me one hand and the cord, — just a mo- 
ment, a single moment, — this hand with the 
cord in it, — and you shall be rid of me for- 
ever ! ' 

The Tiger burst into a hideous laugh, his 
habitual cruelty returning at the sound of his 
victim's voice. 

i Rid of you ! not so fast, my son ; not so 
fast! You will hold out a day or two yet. Let 
me see! ' passing his hand along the emaciated, 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 19 

feverish body of the sufferer. ' Oh, yes ; two 
days at least, perhaps three, and it may be 
longer. Patience, my son ; you are frightfully 
strong! Now these joints — why any other 
man's would have separated long ago ; but here 
they stay just as firmly — ' As he spoke with a 
calculating sort of deliberation, the monster 
gave the cord a sudden jerk, then another, and 
a third, raising his victim still farther from the 
floor, and then adjusting it about the beam, 
walked unconcernedly away. For several min- 
utes the prison rung with the most fearful 
cries. Shriek followed shriek, agonized, furious, 
with scarcely a breath between ; bellowings, 
howlings, gnashings of the teeth, sharp, piercing 
screams, yells of savage defiance ; cry upon cry, 
cry upon cry, with wild superhuman strength, 
they came ; while the prisoners shrank in awe 
and terror, trembling in their chains. But this 
violence soon exhasted itself, and the paroxysm 
passed, giving place to low, sad moans, irresist- 
ibly pitiful. This was a day never to be for- 
gotten, by the hundred wretched creatures 
congregated in the gloomy death-prison. The 
sun had never seemed to move so slowly before. 



20 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

Its setting was gladly welcomed, but yet the 
night brought no change. Those piteous moans, 
those agonized groanings seemed no nearer an 
end than ever. 

Another day passed — another night — again 
day dawned and drew near its close ; and yet 
the poor Kathayan clung to life with frightful 
tenacity. One of the missionaries, as a peculiar 
favor, had been allowed to creep into an old 
shed, opposite the door of the prison ; and here 
he was joined by a companion, just as the day 
was declining towards evening. 

' Oh, will it ever end ? ' whispered one. 

The other only bowed his head between his 
hands — £ Terrible ! terrible ! ' 

< There surely can be nothing worse in the 
West Prison.' 

i Can there be anything worse — can there be 
more finished demons in the pit ? ' 

Suddenly, while this broken conversation was 
conducted in a low tone, so as not to draw upon 
the speakers the indignation of their jailers, 
they were struck by the singular stillness of the 
prison. The clanking of chains, the murmur 
and the groan, the heavy breathing of congre- 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 21 

gated living beings, the bustle occasioned by 
the continuous uneasy movement of the restless 
sufferers, the ceaseless tread of the Children of 
* the- Prison, and their bullying voices, all were 
hushed. 

' "What is it ? ' in a lower whisper than ever, 
and a shaking of the head, and holding their 
own chains to prevent their rattle, and looks full 
of wonder, was all that passed between the two 
listeners. Their amazement was interrupted by 
a dull, heavy sound, as though a bag of dried 
bones had been suddenly crushed down by the 
weight of some powerful foot. Silently they 
stole to a crevice in the boards, opposite the 
open door. Not a jailer was to be seen; and 
the prisoners were motionless and apparently 
breathless, with the exception of one powerful 
man, who was just drawing the wooden mallet 
in his hand for another blow on the temple of 
the suspended Kathayan. It came down with 
the same dull, hollow, crushing sound ; the body 
swayed from the point where it was suspended 
by wrist and ankle, till it seemed that every 
joint must be dislocated; but the flesh scarcely 
quivered. The blow was repeated, and then 



22 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



another, and another; but they were not needed. 
The poor captive Kathayan was dead. 

The mallet was placed away from sight, and 
the daring man hobbled back to his corner, 
dangling his heavy chain as though it had been 
a plaything, and striving with all his might to 
look unconscious and unconcerned. An evident 
feeling of relief stole over the prisoners ; the 
Children of the Prison came back to their 
places, one by one, and all went on as before. 
It was some time before any one appeared to 
discover the death of the Kathayan. The old 
Tiger declared it was what he had been expect- 
ing, that his living on in this manner was quite 
out of rule ; but that those hardy fellows from 
the hills never would give in, while there was a 
possibility of drawing another breath. Then 
the poor skeleton was unchained, dragged by 
the heels into the prison-yard, and thrown into a 
gutter. It did not apparently, fall properly, for 
one of the jailers altered the position of the 
shoulders by means of his foot ; then clutching 
the long black hair, jerked the head a little 
farther on the side. Thus the discolored temple 
was hidden ; and surely that emaciated form 



THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 



23 



gave sufficient evidence of a lingering death. 
Soon after, a party of government officers 
visited the prison-yard, touched the corpse with 
their feet, without raising it ; and, apparently 
satisfied, turned away, as though it had been a 
dead dog, that they cared not to give farther 
attention. 

Is it strange that, if one were there, with a 
human heart within him, not brutalized by crime 
or steeled by passive familiarity with suffering, 
he should have dragged his heavy chain to the 
side of the dead, and dropped upon his sharp- 
ened, distorted features, the tear, which there 
was none who had loved him, to shed ? Is it 
strange that tender fingers should have closed 
the staring eyes, and touched gently the cold 
brow, w^hich throbbed no longer with pain, and 
smoothed the frayed hair, and composed the 
passive limbs decently, though he knew that 
the next moment rude hands would destroy the 
result of his pious labor? And is it strange that 
when all which remained of the poor sufferer, 
had been jostled into its sackcloth shroud, and 
crammed down into the dark hole dug for.it in 
the earth, a prayer should have ascended, even 



24 THE KATHAYAN SLAVE. 

from that terrible prison ? Not a prayer for the 
dead ; he had received his doom. But an 
earnest, beseeching, upheaving of the heart, for 
those wretched beings that, in the face of the pure 
heavens and the smiling earth, confound, by the 
inherent blackness of their natures, philosopher, 
priest or philanthropist, who dares to tickle the 
ears of the multitude with fair theories of 
4 Natural religion,' and ' The dignity of human 
nature. 5 



MEE SHWAY-EE.* 

In the tropic land of Burmah, 

"Where the sun grows never old ; 
And the regal-browed palmyra 

Crowns her head with clouds of gold ; 
On a strange, wild promontory, 

Close beside the rushing sea, 
Listening ever to the billows, 

Dwelt poor little Mee Shway-ee. 

But along the sandy sea-shore, 

Or amid the foliage green, 
Stringing rows of crimson berries, 

"Was the maiden never seen ; 
Never twined she her black tresses 

With the golden mazalee ; 
For a wild and wo-marked slave-child, 

Was poor little Mee Shway-ee. 

1 A very interesting account of this slave child may be 
found in the Baptist Missionary Magazine for April, 1829. 



26 



MEE SHWAY-EE. 



And when in the hush of twilight 

Rose a startling eldritch cry, 
Answered by the grey-winged osprey, 

Plunging seaward from the sky ; 
Then the village wives and maidens, 

As they glanced from roof to sea, 
"Whispered of a human osprey, 

And poor writhing Mee Shway-ee. 

But a messenger of Jesus — 

Him who, centuries ago, 
Bared His bosom to the arrow 

Winged by human guilt and woe, 
And then said, ' Go preach my gospel ! 

Lo ! I'm evermore with thee ; ' — 
One who served this blessed Jesus, 

Found poor trembling Mee Shway-ee. 

Found her wan, and scarred, and bleeding, 

Mad with agony and sin ; 
So love's arms were opened widely, 

And the sufferer folded in ; 
Tender fingers soothed and nursed her, 

And 'twas wonderful to see, 
How the winning glance of pity 

Tamed the elf-child, Mee Shway-ee. 



MEE SHWAY-EE. 27 

For, beneath those drooping eyelids 

Shone a human spirit now, 
And the light of thought came playing 

Softly over lip and brow ; 
But her little footstep faltered, — 

Beamed her eye more lovingly, — 
And 'twas known that death stood claiming 

Gentle, trusting, Mee Shway-ee. 

But to her he came an angel, 

Throned in clouds of rosy light ; 
Came to bear her to that Saviour, 

Who had broke her weary night ; 
And with smiles she sought his bosom ; 

So, beside the rushing sea, 
'Neath the weeping casuarina, 

Laid they little Mee Shway-ee. 



MADNESS OF THE MISSIONARY 
ENTERPRISE. 

1 What has been the fruit, or what may rea- 
sonably be expected to be the fruit of all these 
labors and sufferings, of all these privations, 
sacrifices, sicknesses, and deaths ? * * * It is 
our deliberate conviction that the whole enter- 
prise was uncalled for * * * that she had 
better have remained at home.' — Review of 
Anne Judson's Memoir. 1828. 

' These workings,' [' of brother Carey's mind,'] 
4 produced a sermon, and the sermon a subscrip- 
tion to convert four hundred and twenty millions 
of pagans.' — Edinburgh Review. 1809. 

1 So with these 12J cents a-piece, and a parcel 
of crazy boys and romantic girls, you are expect- 
ing to see the world converted.' — The Rev. D. B. 
1836. 



THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 29 

' The notice of the sailing of Missionaries is 
too often and speedily followed by the account 
of their early death ; and it is time a word of 
caution was spoken, especially to females.' — 
New York Express. 1846. 

f This is another instance of infatuation,' &c. 
c We really think there should be a law against 
the wholesale sacrifice of life which is continu- 
ally chronicled among those who imagine they 
are called to labor in unhealthy climes as the 
wives of missionaries.' — Boston Transcript. 
1846. 

As I stood not long since in the shadow of 
the Hopea tree, overlooking the mouldering ashes 
of one who, in the words of the early Jerusalem 
Church, had 'hazarded her life for Christ;' and 
as I thought of all she had suffered, all she had 
done and dared, the words of her Reviewer 
rushed upon my mind with almost overpower- 
ing force. Boodhistic temples and pagodas still 
decorate the little promontory on which her 
grave is made ; and monks, with shaven crowns 
and trailing yellow robes, still promenade the 
streets, and are reverenced as oracles, by the 



30 MADNESS OF THE 

blinded idolators of Amherst, while all that re- 
mains to tell of her, is this grassy mound, and 
this mildewed, mossy marble. 

And may it not, after all, be true that her 
sacrifice was vain, — that 'the enterprise was 
uncalled for,' — ' that she had better have re- 
mained at home ? ' 

This apparently calm view of the subject, is 
not the ' deliberate conviction ' of one man only, 
nor of one class of men ; but thousands, both 
in Europe and America, have arrived at simi- 
lar conclusions. The learned philosopher of 
Edinburgh, the obscure Baptist preacher, taking 
an indignant farewell of his mission-tinctured 
flock, the observant, worldly-wise gentleman of 
the Express, and the lady editor of Puritanic 
New England, all join their voices with the 
Unitarian Reviewer's, and conspire to proclaim 
that she and all her successors are fanatics, and 
that the cause in which she fell is based upon 
the most extravagant absurdity. And, candidly, 
viewing this subject in the subdued light of 
sober common sense, have they not good ground 
for their opinion? Who are the originators, 
who the supporters of this scheme of modern 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 31 

missions, and what are their plans and re- 
sources? Is it headed by some mighty poten- 
tate, with the lives and treasure of a nation at 
his control, and can it display a goodly list of 
titled names — men of renown, and influence, 
and power ? Was it originated by some deep- 
judging, far-seeing statesman, whose matchless 
policy has been the wonder of the age in which 
he lives ? Or did it emanate from some school 
of reverend sages, so wise, so good, and so phi- 
lanthropic, as to hold the entire world in awe ? 
Perhaps it has somehow linked itself with com- 
mercial interests, and may claim as its projectors 
those 'merchant princes' who are said to consti- 
tute the ballast of the nations, and whose 
resources are bounded only by the impossibilities 
of art. Alas no! none of these. Leaving out 
of the account, as irrelevant to our present 
purpose, certain stirrings on the continent of 
Europe all through the eighteenth century, let 
us take note of the movement among people of 
our own blood and language. In England it 
emanated (so says the Edinburgh Review) from 
a 'nest of consecrated cobblers;' and then a 
half dozen American school-boys rushed forward 



32 MADNESS OF THE 

to light their tiny tapers at the cobbler's fire. 
And what was to be done ? What Quixotic 
expedition did these ignorant mechanics and 
4 crazy boys and girls ' contemplate ? Nothing 
less than the entire renovation of the entire 
world. So, in order to accomplish this magnifi- 
cent scheme, did they band together, unite all 
their little resources, and pour their consecrated 
strength upon a single point? Far from it. 
Defying all the rules that have ever governed 
the operations of wise men, they scattered them- 
selves as widely as possible, and the plains of 
India, Chin-India, and China, the burning deserts 
of Africa, the frozen, rugged wildernesses of 
America, and the far Islands of the sea have 
not been thought too wide a range for . these 
victims of unmitigated madness. 

Let us contemplate for a moment one of 
these fanatics, with his white face and outre 
garb, sitting down in a strange city, ignorant 
of the language and customs of the people; 
yet with the deliberate and avowed intention 
of subverting their favorite tastes, thwarting 
their dearest prejudices, overthrowing their time- 
honored institutions, degrading the memories of 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 33 

their fathers, and teaching them and their sons 
to worship a God of whom they never before 
heard, and look forward to an eternity whose 
very blissfulness is distasteful to them. But 
this is not all. If he aimed at an outward 
change merely, his very insanity might be turned 
to account, and he might wield the power of 
Lady Hester Stanhope through similar inspira- 
tion. The juggler's gown and wand, a charmed 
necklace, or even the crucifix and rosary of the 
Romanists would doubtless prove powerful in- 
struments in cunning hands. But no; he has 
no peculiar dress, no relics, no pretended charms; 
and he labors not merely for change of profes- 
sion, but the burden of his cry is, ' Ye must be 
born again!' Every individual, man, woman, 
and child, must undergo a radical change of 
nature, a mystic inner renovation, which the 
teacher himself does not profess ability to com- 
pass, and of which he can giye no description 
satisfactory to reason, or more definite in its 
accuracy, than would be an account of the 
wanderings of the wind. 

But there must be power, somewhere ; there 
must be resources of some sort ; otherwise, in- 
3 



34 MADNESS OF THE 

fatuation itself would die for want of nourish- 
ment. "Who are the supporters, the encouragers 
of this stupendous scheme ? Still, the ' cobbler,' 
the blacksmith, and the day-laborer, act a prom- 
inent part; but he must have a weary search, 
indeed, who would find the names of kings, 
princes, and nobles. Some men of wealth and 
influence may be scattered through the ranks, 
here and there ; but the poor of this world are 
emphatically the patrons of missions. The pale 
seamstress lays aside her hard-earned pittance 
of a Saturday evening ; the washerwoman for- 
gets not the mission penny before she kneels to 
thank God that another week of toil has been 
added to her busy life ; and the sad-eyed widow 
calls her hungry troop of little ones about her, 
tells them of poor heathen children, until their 
little hearts are melted, and thus she adds her 
loaf of bread to the sacred treasury. Persons 
of ampler means give more, as each one pleases ; 
but there is no fountain of wealth, no bank, no 
system of taxation, no legal claim on any person 
or body of persons ; and, of course, no earthly 
certainty that the project will be able to main- 
tain itself a single month. The madmen who 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 35 

go to the heathen are utterly at the mercy of the 
madmen who stay at home. And yet, notwith- 
standing all this uncertainty, there is scarcely a 
nook of the wide earth which they have not 
penetrated ; scarcely a forest tree, from the 
stunted fir of the frozen regions, to the tall 
palm of the south, whose leaves have not quiv- 
ered to the sacred airs rising from every village 
spire of fair America. 

But a price has been paid for all this — the 
price of human lives ; and so 'it is time a word 
of caution was spoken — especially to females.' 
This is doubtless very kind, — kindly intended, 
and, perhaps, wisely thought, — but who will 
vouch for its reception ? The self-willed young 
madcaps, who have heard of missions in their 
cradles, who have read their Bibles in simple 
faith, and who have bowed their unquestioning 
hearts to certain mysterious closet-teachings, at 
which our man of the world would only smile, 
will scarcely be so easily controlled. Oh, no ; 
would he blow back the hurricane with his lips, 
or stay the rushing tide with his palm ? 

Let us look a little closer into the workings of 
this insanity. A timid young girl, never before 



36 MADNESS OF THE 

suspected of differing materially from other girls, 
suddenly rises from the midst of loving brothers 
and sisters, and announces her intention of going 
away to the heathen. Calmly and deliberately 
she proposes a sacrifice of all she is now — of 
all her future earthly prospects. She proposes 
nothing less than to abandon the sweet com- 
panionship of early friends, to leave the shelter 
of the paternal wing, voluntarily, and perhaps 
in the midst of opposition and ridicule, cast off 
the protection of civilized society and the laws 
of a Christian land, and go out to lead an 
almost nomadic life among the vilest and most 
degraded of the human race. Some encourage, 
some smile, and others stare ; while, in many 
cases, the dissecting knife of criticism is whet- 
ted to a miracle of sharpness. A set of petty 
philosophers, of whom every country village 
can furnish its quota — physiognomists, phre- 
nologists, psychologists, and professors of other 
dreamy nonsense, suddenly become aware of a 
new object for the exercise of their philanthropic 
vocation. They scan her features, they measure 
her head, they guage her intellect, they analyze 
her affections, they trick out in modern frippery 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 37 

some old moth-eaten theory of mind for her 
benefit ; and then give utterance to profound 
saws about romance, — love of adventure, — de- 
sire for distinction, — a day of repentance, — 
while she, poor thing ! scared at such doubtful 
notoriety, involuntarily places her hand on her 
throat, apprehensive that she may have been 
metamorphosed into ' the woman that was going 
to be hanged.' Well, it is a good beginning of 
the life she is to lead ; and, to the over-sensitive, 
perhaps is needful. 

But how is it with their prophecies? Does 
repentance come ? Is her romance crushed be- 
neath the heavy tread of dull, cold reality ? Is 
her love of adventure tamed by the monotonous 
routine of a missionary life ? Is her desire 
for distinction superseded by misanthropic dis- 
appointment, when no human eye but that of 
her husband is upon her ? Follow her, and we 
shall see. 

Lo ! her tread is as light as in the gladsome 
days of girlhood ; her smile is as cheerful, and 
in its brightness there is a depth of meaning, a 
richness of expression, that it never possessed 
before. Behold her seated by her rude table, 



38 MADNESS OF THE 

straining her eager eye to follow the dim tracery 
of the stylus — not through fields of enchanting 
lore ; not over pages replete with the poetry 
and romance which she once loved. No ; she 
is intent only on making herself familiar with 
the arbitrary signs of a difficult, unclassified 
tongue. See with what interest she watches 
the swarthy lips of the ignorant barbarian, who 
thinks he honors her by condescending to be 
her teacher; trying, meantime, to imitate his 
uncouth sounds, till her voice grows tremulous, 
and her cheek pales with exertion. Then follow 
her to her pillow, and hear her murmur the 
same difficult words in her unrefreshing sleep. 
Surely this romance is not like other romance. 
It is too steady and persevering, too much like 
that high fixedness of purpose, which constitutes 
the strength of the strongest manhood; and, in 
its deathless tenacity, it surpasses even that. 
Well, she goes on day after day, patiently and 
toilfully — day after day, as monotonously as 
the weaver's shuttle ; and at last, she has a sen- 
tence or two at her command. How full of 
emotion are her face and voice, as she repeats 
to every stranger on whom her eye falls, ' There 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 39 

is an eternal God ! ' ' There is a way of sal- 
vation for sinners ! ' 

But behold ! a change. The miasma of a 
deadly climate has crept into her veins, and is 
settling down upon the springs of life. She has 
the strongest motives for wishing to live, but the 
stealthy progress of insidious disease has be- 
guiled her too long, and she is dying. Now, 
perhaps, one desperate effort is made to save her 
— an effort which comes too late. She is 
tossing on the ocean, but she speaks from a bed 
of death. Hear her. ' I have done nothing for 
Christ ; but, thanks to His grace, I have had it 
in my heart to do ; and since He sees fit to call 
me home, I know it is best. His will be done ! ' 
The moments ebb. Her breath grows shorter, 
and her eye is rapidly glazing. Again she 
speaks, but the ear must bend low to catch the 
feeble murmur, — ' Tell — tell my mother — I — 
have never been sorry that I came. 5 

What inconceivable infatuation ! What im- 
measurable madness, even in death ! But the 
contagion stops not here. In the hush of twi- 
light, a seemingly sacred object is gently and 
solemnly borne to the deck, lifted over the 



40 MADNESS OF THE 

vessel's side ; and thus all that was ever mortal, 
of that now immortal one, sinks in the unfath- 
omed deep. But the plunge, soft and low as it 
is, reaches to her far native land, and its echo 
rings out from hill and valley, from busy town, 
and forest hamlet, shaping itself into the heart- 
felt exclamation, ' Here am I — send me!' A 
caution, indeed ! and what words can point a 
sterner caution, than the skeleton finger of Death 
himself ? 

Take another instance ; for ' the notice of the 
sailing of missionaries ' is not ahvays { followed 
by the account of their early death.' The mis- 
sionary wife has survived the acclimating pro- 
cess, has learned to use a foreign tongue, and 
has made for herself a little nucleus of human 
love. She has become familiar with toil, and 
suffering, and want, and insult, but she has sur- 
vived all ; and, though her history may par- 
tially be read in the pallid cheek and drooping 
figure, her eye never glowed with a loftier 
enthusiasm than now, and her lip never curved 
to a more soul-beaming soul. Far back in her 
history, when she was a young and blooming 
wife, does the tale of her trials begin. Then it 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 41 

was that sickness first came, and though she had 
scarcely ever noted its form before, love imparted 
singular skill to her unpractised hand, and she 
pored over books of medicine, until she grew to 
be almost learned in her new profession. There 
was a call from the wilderness, and she smiled 
the one earthly protector from her side, and 
stood up, alone and sublime in her helplessness, 
amid swarms of hostile barbarians. The mid- 
night robber came ; the pestilence swept past 
her ; the pupil over whom she had wept and 
prayed, and for whose welfare she had toiled for 
weary years, sunk back into apostasy ; but her 
heart never fainted, her hand never wavered. 
She had still other tears and other prayers, and 
she longed to pour out all in her Master's ser- 
vice. Her own strength failed. She pressed 
her hand to her aching side, stifled the groan 
upon her lip, and toiled on. Death visited the 
missionary's dwelling. The quivering hands of 
the mother closed the eyes of her first-born child, 
wrapped the white robes about it, and crossed 
the little icy fingers on the bosom, while the 
father prepared the coffin and the grave, then 
cast the cold clods upon his darling, and sobbed 
out the final prayer. 



42 MADNESS OF THE 

The hour of agony passed, and the childless 
mother was again at her toil. Another, and 
perhaps still another blossom drooped before her 
eyes ; while some wild river-bank, or the dark 
dingle shadowed by jungle-trees, became the 
depository of her dearest treasures. But she 
paused not, she faltered not, for the madness 
nestled in the very core of her heart ; and there 
was One she loved better than children, better 
than her own life. So on, and still onward, in 
one unvarying track, she has gone, till now 
another bitter trial awaits her. 

She has a darling boy, the oldest that the 
grave has left her. She has borne him long 
upon her bosom, she taught him the accents of 
his mother tongue, she trained his affections, 
she watched and guided his budding intellect, 
feeling herself the only avenue through which it 
might be enriched ; and she loves this priceless 
jewel of her solitude, as no other mother on 
earth can love. Oh, no ; it is not lack of affec- 
tion, but an intense concentration of all the 
powers of the soul, strong, deep, ardent, though 
severely disciplined, that makes her dare the 
sacrifice. To a casual observer, this son of her 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 43 

watchful loneliness would appear a child of 
uncommon promise. But the mother knows 
that this promise is deceitful ; that his attain- 
ments, quickly and easily made, are superficial ; 
that his seeming intellectuality is not the growth 
of his own mind, but the result, rather, of a 
foreign stratum wrought over it ; and she trem- 
bles lest the hot-house precocity of the child 
should prove but the precursor of early death, 
or an imbecile manhood. The thousand stimuli 
to exertion — especially the invigorating, sharp- 
ening contact of mind with mind, peculiar to a 
civilized people, she has often lamented on her 
own behalf; and she has, thus far, taxed her 
ingenuity to the utmost, to prevent her child 
sinking into the inert listlessness, the inefficiency 
and indolence, which characterize the heathen 
character. But she begins to find that it is 
beyond her power, to impart the mental stamina 
which he so much needs ; while there is nothing 
in the community surrounding them, to tax his 
energies, or develope his dormant resources. A 
physical change, too, is gradually creeping over 
him. He has grown tall and thin, and there is 
a sickly stoop in his shoulders. The expression 



44 MADNESS OF THE 

of his face is sad, and disagreeably mature ; his 
features are sharpened ; and he has a feeble, 
timid air, and a querulous tone to his voice, in 
painful contrast with the freshness and buoyancy 
suited to his years. The missionary wife and 
mother has drank many a bitter draught, but 
there is one before her now, almost too bitter 
for her to contemplate. She must part from 
her beloved child, or sacrifice him to maternal 
weakness. Strange that a bright alternative 
does not suggest itself. Strange that, as her 
thoughts revert to her own childhood, the waving 
grain, the fragrant orchards, the cool, health- 
inspiring breezes of her native hills, commingled 
with visions of loved faces, and dear familiar 
voices, and Sabbath bells, and all the precious 
associations of early days, should not draw her 
relenting heart homeward. But, no ; the mad- 
ness is upon her ; and a voice is continually 
proclaiming in her ear, i He that loveth son or 
daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.' 
She takes her child to her bosom for the last 
time ; her last kiss is on his lip, her last prayer 
is in his ear ; the soft, loving pressure of her 
hand has been left upon his head for the last 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 45 

time ; and now she is alone in her agony. It 
matters not to her that cold cavillers sit in their 
luxurious mansions, and speculate on the pro- 
priety of her sacrifice. She knows that she has 
the approbation of the eternal God, and to Him 
alone does she look for consolation, in her sharp 
anguish. 

Years pass, and there is another death-bed. 
Watch her carefully ; listen attentively ; see if 
there come not some little word, some little 
token of the repentance prophesied at the com- 
mencement of her career. Threads of silver 
have begun to mingle with the darker hue 
shading her temples. She is not old, but she 
has reached that meridian at which romance 
usually gives place to maturity of judgment; 
and her enthusiasm has long since been sub- 
jected to the chastening influence of sorrow. 
Surely she must have gained some wisdom in 
all these busy years ; and perhaps in the mother's 
last message to her son, she will be able to 
divest herself of her life-long madness. Let us 
see. ' Tell him,' she says, ' tell him I have 
thought of him, and of one more meeting here 
on earth, with painfully delicious longing. But 



46 MADNESS OF THE 

since it is not the will of God that I should look 
upon his face again, bid him prepare to meet 
me hereafter in our Father's mansions. And 
oh, it is a joy for me to hope, that when I am 
mouldering in the dust, it may please the Lord 
to call my son to preach the gospel to these poor 
heathen ! ' 

What will a word of caution avail against 
monomaniacy like this? Ah, ' there should be 
a law.' Indeed ! and does not our kind philan- 
thropist know that human invention has been 
on the rack for the last eighteen centuries to 
devise a law which should palsy the feet and 
seal the lips of these same bearers of glad 
tidings? But we need not go so far back for 
examples. What but English law caused the 
early English missionaries to flee to the ships of 
Denmark and America ; and thus spread the 
contagion of their strange malady far and wide? 
What but Anglo-Indian law placed the martyr- 
crown upon the brow of young Harriet Newell ; 
and made every drop of blood that it caused 
to stagnate in her veins, the germ of another 
missionary ? And what but the same law 
hunted her companions, like vagabonds, from 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 47 

shore to shore, opening to them new fields of 
labor, giving the widest possible scope to their 
powers, and by means of its very hatred of mis- 
sions, actually planting new missions. And has 
not the law of every Pagan nation beneath the 
heavens, from the bloody savages of Sumatra, 
to the comparatively polished children of the 
Celestial Empire, closed its strong gates, or 
shaken its manacles in the face of the un- 
heeding missionary? And what can tolerant 
America do, more than these? She must have 
strangely gifted legislators, indeed, to devise an 
edict that should prove stronger than prison 
bars and clanking chains ; than all the crimson 
paraphernalia of death, which spreads itself be- 
fore the missionary in his hour of consecration. 
But it is time to inquire what all this won- 
drous madness means; to search out, if pos- 
sible, the controlling principle of this mighty 
progressive movement, which, though begun in 
obscurity, and carried on in weakness, is rapidly 
gaining the respect of even the most skeptical. 
What is it that draws the wisdom of gray hairs, 
the enthusiasm of youth, and the simplicity of 
childhood, into a community of feeling and ac- 



48 



MADNESS OF THE 



tion ? What is it that makes the weak strong, 
the timid daring; that turns the tremulous nerve 
to iron, and the waxen will to adamant ; that 
laughs alike at human reason and human laws ; 
and goes forth trampling with stern, though 
meek deliberation, on dangers, difficulties, and 
death itself? What is it, but the highest, the 
deepest, the most absorbing principle of our 
nature — Love. 

For examples of the strength of this wonder- 
working principle, in its imperfect human de- 
velopment, we have no need to search occasional 
records, and take eager note of the wife who 
follows her husband to the battle-field, or the 
mother who leaps into the sea, or mounts to the 
aerie of the eagle, for her child. We have 
every day before our eyes, in the commonest 
walks of life, among the rudest natures, beau- 
tiful, nay, sublime exhibitions of the intensity, 
the depth, the deathlessness of this passion of 
love. But all we see, all we read of in human 
history, is but as a ray from the sun, a single 
drop from the mighty fountain, a ripple on that 
limitless ocean, which is singled out by Inspi- 
ration from other Divine attributes, as the fit- 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 49 

ting representative of all — the synonym of 
Deity. 

1 God is love.' He so loved the world, that 
He gave the Son of His bosom to save it from 
merited destruction. Christ, the Redeemer, 
loved it even unto death ; and he loves it now. 
And whoever has drunk most deeply of His 
spirit, shows it most in loving with a Christ-like 
fervor and self-forgetfulness. 

' That the love wherewith Thou hast loved 
me,' said the Saviour, in that last exquisitely 
touching, peace-breathing prayer, before the final 
consummation of His sacrifice, — 'That the love 
wherewith Thou hast loved me, may be in 
them, and I in them!' What a petition was 
that, in the illimitable grandeur of its thought, in 
the rich munificence of its affection. The love 
wherewith the Father loved His only begotten 
Son, swelling, surging through the bosom of 
man, breaking up those deep fountains of the 
soul, which no mere human finger has the 
power to reach ; and elevating him at once to a 
new and mysterious connection with the Divine 
nature ! Behold, then, the electric chain that 
links the family of God on earth ; and causes 
4 



50 MADNESS OF THE 

the hearts of all its members to thrill in unison, 
at the sound of the Controlling Voice! And 
what says that voice ? Appealing in firm, com- 
manding tones, to the principle implanted by 
the Holy Spirit in the regenerated soul of man, 
what is its great requirement ? Go ye into 

ALL THE WORLD, AND PREACH THE GOSPEL TO 
EVERY CREATURE ! 

Is this wise? — is it reasonable? — will it do 
any good? — inquires the stranger, and while 
he sits down to doubt and cavil, and search for 
lions in the way, the unquestioning child goes 
away and does the Father's bidding. That 
which is madness and folly in the eyes of one, 
is regarded by the other as but a simple, affec- 
tionate, trustful act of obedience to Him who 
has the right to control and the power to protect ? 
They have no fears of what the end may be, 
when He who sees the end from the beginning is 
directing them. They have not to experiment, 
and question, and tread doubtfully along the 
tangled wilderness of life. They have a great 
unerring Guide, and it is their glory to follow 
His voice and cling to His hand, through what- 
ever He shall choose to lead them ; to believe, to 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 



51 



trust, to rejoice in Him, even in the midst of 
temporary afflictions. And thus it is that they 
shrink not from the privations, and dangers, and 
difficulties incident to His service, feeling it 
their highest honor to be permitted to suffer for 
His sake. Oh, the love of Christ! the love of 
Christ ! this it is which constitutes the spirit and 
essence of missionary devotion ; and to those 
who have never drunk from the delicious foun- 
tain, who have not yet been made subjects of 
that wondrous prayer, < As thou hast loved me,' 
it may well be looked upon as infatuation. 

But ' what has been the fruit of all these 
labors and sufferings — of all these privations, 
sacrifices, sicknesses, and deaths ? ' Nothing to 
become the ground of boasting, certainly ; but 
enough to make all heaven rejoice. Simply the 
maturing of a few early clusters of grapes, 
where only the thorn tree grew ; the gathering 
of a few golden sheaves from the arid soil, 
which never bore even a blade of grass before. 
And this is surely worth the labor, if only as 
the precursor of a more bountiful harvest. But 
this is not all that has been done. Behold the 
rivers of water on their fertilizing course through 



52 MADNESS OF THE 

the desert ; look upon the thousand fields laid 
in long rich furrows by the gospel plough-share, 
or stirred, and levelled, and wetted with the 
dews of heaven, waiting for the sower's coming 
And there are panting hearts, and extended 
hands, and ready feet, willing, even as the 
Master wills it, to scatter the seed or gather in 
the harvest. Ay; go traverse America, from 
the borders of fair New England to the sound- 
ing shores of the Pacific, and count, if they can 
be counted, the various missionary organiza- 
tions that have sprung up within the last half 
century. Go watch the movements of the 
thousands and tens of thousands of churches 
by which Christendom is bespangled, and see 
with what simultaneous action they step forth 
to the support of the mighty enterprise. Nay, 
look even at the female sewing-circle, the Sun- 
day School contribution, the infant's penny-box; 
for know that such are the tiny rills which feed 
the measureless ocean. Go catch the watch- 
word, l To every creature! To every creature ! ' 
which sounds forth a simultaneous shout, from 
missionary societies of every evangelical sect; 
for this one point admits of no jarring or discord. 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 



53 



Go to the records of ihe Bible Society, and 
number the tribes and nations, who have already- 
received the word of God in their own tongue. 
Then turn to these same nations and see them 
quivering like the leaves of November before 
the invisible power which is stealing so irresisti- 
bly over them. Go, on a holy Sabbath morning, 
and follow the course of the sun, as he rises on 
the easternmost port of China, till he climbs over 
the rocky hills of the far West to garnish the 
infant spires of Oregon and California. And 
what changes have not fifty — thirty — ten — 
nay, five years wrought, throughout that Sab- 
bath track! How the music of the church 
bells thrills upon the Christian's heart* as on, 
from port to port, he takes his joyous way! 
How few and inconsiderable the spots, from 
which the voice of prayer and praise ascends 
not, and in which that ' Light of the world,' a 
Christian church, has not been kindled ! 

1 And what may reasonably be expected to be 
the fruit?' Ah! that is a theme to stir the 
golden harps of heaven anew, and make the 
wide earth vibrate to the joyful harmony. It 
looks forward to a time when the great family 



54 



MADNESS OF THE 



of man shall be united in one holy brotherhood ; 
and there shall be no more war, no more oppres- 
sion and cruelty, no sinning and no woe. So 
shall the crimson stain be wiped from the brow 
of the nations ; and the lamb and the dove shall 
nestle in the shadow of the cross — their peace- 
ful emblems. Then shall the strong protect the 
weak, and the greatest and most powerful be- 
come voluntary servants of the lowly ; for the 
highest type of greatness will be to benefit 
mankind. This is no poetical illusion — no fair 
Utopian fancy ; nor even a half-formed expecta- 
tion based on man's weak reason. The believ- 
ing child knows as certainly as he knows there 
is a God in heaven, that the mission enterprise 
cannot fail until it usher in that Sabbath of 
the world — the Christian Jubilee. And he 
knows that in that day of Eden purity, and 
more than Eden elevation, when the lamb and 
the lion shall lie down together, and holiness 
shall be inscribed even on the bells of the horses 
— when the empire of the Son of God shall 
extend 'from sea to sea, and from the rivers 
unto the ends of the earth' — there will be in 
the history of the past no brighter page than the 



MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 55 

humble tracery of these small beginnings. And 
when, at last, the heavens are rolled together 
as a scroll, and the earth disappears from among 
her sister planets, the fruits of this enterprise 
shall give richness to the bloom of heaven ; and, 
transmuted to enduring jewels, shall glow with 
resplendent brilliancy in the crown of man's 
Redeemer. 



SONG OF MAUL MAIN. 

Ply the lever, pioneers ! 
Many a waiting angel cheers ; 
Christ above is interceding, 
Here the Holy Ghost is pleading, 

And the promise of Jehovah 
Stands upon His blessed book. 
Cheerly, cheerly ply the lever! 
Pause not — faint not — falter never ! 
Course the river, thrid the alley, 
From the hill-top to the valley, 

Go this barren border over, 
Scattering seed in every nook. 

Gifted with a little wing, 
Far the seed shall float and spring, - — 
Spring and bloom in Burmah's centre, 
Till life-giving fragrance enter 



SONG OF MAULMAIN. 57 

Even the sacred groves of Boodha, 
And the monarch's golden hall. 
Plant the seed, and ply the lever ! 
Pause not — faint not — falter never! 
With a trusting heart and humble, 
Toil till Boodha's throne shall crumble, 
Monastery and pagoda 

Reel before the Cross, and fall. 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



{ Is he not beautiful, my lord ? ' 

The speaker was a shy, girlish-looking crea- 
ture, numbering, probably, some sixteen cycles ; 
and, though her cheek and brow had a swarthy 
hue, and her brilliant black eye glowed with a 
restless, wild uncertainty of expression, she was 
yet lavishly gifted with both grace and beauty. 
She wore over her shoulders a clumsy, bag-like 
tunic, so profusely ornamented with jungle 
seeds, glass beads, and the wings of the golden- 
green beetle, as to conceal the original fabric of 
blue cotton. Her round, bare arms, were deco- 
rated with a variety of fantastic bracelets ; and 
from the knot, into which her shining black 
hair was gathered, floated the rich golden 
panicles of the flowery cassia. Her little henna- 
tipped fingers were busily employed in wreath- 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 59 

ing chaplets, necklaces, anklets and bracelets, of 
the rosy white blossoms gathered from a neigh- 
boring clerodendron tree, with which she deco- 
rated the unshapely person of a tawny infant, 
sleeping at her knee. 

' Is he not beautiful, my lord ? ' she asked, 
clapping her hands in childish admiration, after 
having given to the sylvan costume of her child 
what she evidently considered the finishing 
touches. 

' My lord ' * was a dark, rough, bristly-bearded 
man, of middle age, unmistakeably Karen in 
feature, though wearing the Burmese dress, and 
with it the haughty expression of countenance, 
characteristic of the latter race. His exterior 
gave but little promise of sympathy with the 
flutterings of the young mother's heart, a fact 
of which she seemed fully aware, for even in 
her gladness she asked the question with averted 

*This title is indefinite in the degree of honor which it 
signifies ; being sometimes addressed to royalty, and some- 
times conveying so little reverence, as to be better translated 
Sir. It is seldom used by a wife in addressing her husband, 
unless there is some great difference in rank, or she is kept in 
unusual subjection. 



60 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

eye. The appeal, however, was to a father's 
pride, and he looked at the little brown bundle 
of flesh, and smiled, at first admiringly, then 
with a singular expression of contemplative 
tenderness, of which his stern features were 
capable, but which they seldom wore. 

' What is it ? ' asked the young wife, appre- 
hensively. i Is anything the matter with him ? ' 

The father smiled again, a curious smile, 
mixed up of different expressions, the most 
prominent of which was a lordly appreciation 
of his own superior wisdom ; while the anxious 
little mother dropped her flowers upon the bank, 
and repeated the question, — ' Is anything the 
matter with him ? ' 

' Nothing that you will ever see, my bright 
little Mango-bird ; so keep on singing, while the 
sun shines.' 

1 But — but,' she stammered, i if anything 
should be the matter with our boy — ' 

The stern man turned to a clump of thorny 
bamboos, gracefully mantled by the beautiful 
Rangoon creeper, and gathering a handful of 
milk-white blossoms, completed the toilet of the 
child. 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



61 



'Beautiful! beautiful!' exclaimed the young 
mother, quite as much delighted with her hus- 
band's condescension, as the effects of his skill. 

' Beautiful, and stainless, too,' was the re- 
sponse, 'but — ah, you will not understand, my 
pretty Mimosa ; and why should you ? ' 

1 1 should like to understand, my lord,' and 
the dark eyes were lifted to his, with a deep, 
questioning wonder, behind which seemed to 
lurk some scarcely defined purpose. 

The husband, however, remarked nothing 
unusual. 

i Well, Mimosa, you know that when the sun 
is up, the blossoms will be stained, and so — 
our blossom? 

The woman answered by an absorbed, search- 
ing gaze. 

' And at evening they will be crimson.' 

1 Must it be so, my lord ? ' 

' Is it not always ? ' 

c What can we do ? ' 

' Nothing.' 

The young wife looked disappointed. Sev- 
eral times she opened her lips, as though to 
speak, but seemed to doubt the wisdom of her 



62 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

purpose ; and that strange, fitful light glanced 
more fitfully than ever from her bright eye. 
Finally, she leaned over her sleeping child, with 
a restless sort of anxiety, taking up, one by one, 
the symbolic blossoms, and breathing on them, 
while the stern husband stood watching her 
movements, with an air of amused interest. 

' You see that the poison is in you, Mimosa,' 
he said at length ; f your breath stains the pretty 
blossoms, and withers them, too,' and he glanced 
expressively at the child. 

The woman made no answer, but she bent 
still lower, and the struggle, whatever it might 
be, that was going on in her spirit, seemed 
almost to convulse her slight frame. The hus- 
band regarded her in absolute amazement. 

4 My poor little Mynah,' he at length said, 
coaxingly ; ' the cage is very dark, but there is 
no use in beating the bars, and spoiling its 
pretty wings. "Who thought a word would 
ruffle its plumage so ? — there — there ! ' 

The struggle was over ; and the woman lifted 
her head with an air of calm determination. 

' My lord, there is at Maulmain city a white 
foreigner, who teaches that the stain may be 
removed.' 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 63 

The dark brows of the husband were suddenly 
contracted, and a fierce glance shot from his 
stern eyes ; but it was with a quiet, steady voice 
that he asked, < "Who told you of him, Mynah ? ' 

1 My lord ! ' exclaimed the poor wife, depre- 
catingly. 

< Who told you ? ' the husband repeated, with- 
out elevating his voice, but with a deadly mean- 
ing in its cold monotone, which struck a forlorn 
hopelessness to the heart of that timid young 
creature, whose very life depended on his nod. 

She, however, raised her head with some faint 
show of courage, and answered, < I heard it in 
my father's house, on the other side of the great 
Salwen.' 

1 Well, Mimosa, you are not in your father's 
house now, nor do you tread the white man's 
territory ; and, mark me ! ' he said, rising and 
folding his swart arms across his brawny chest, 
from this moment, you will forget that a word 
of this abominable heresy has ever entered your 
ears, or,' with a deeper, sterner intonation, ' that 
your meddling finger has ever touched their 
writing. You hear, woman ! ' 

The young wife, like all her race, who have 



64 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

not been educated out of the national charac- 
teristic, was in general docile and submissive ; 
but she evidently had some strong purpose at 
her heart, a settled determination to bring the 
subject she had dared present to her husband to 
some distinct issue. At the last word, fiercely 
spoken, she sprang to her feet, and confronted 
the angry man, with her whole frame quivering, 
and her eye blazing with the intensity of con- 
tending emotions. 

' What would you do, my lord,' she asked, in 
a clear, ringing voice, ' if I were to become a 
Christian?' 

c Kill you.' 

The woman smiled drearily, sat down, and 
drew her baby to her bosom. 

4 Why did you ask such a terrible question, 
Mimosa?' inquired the husband, after a little 
pause. 

' Because,' she answered, with a short laugh, 
which might have been simply the overflowing 
of a careless heart, or, coupled with the words, 
had something of mockery in it, ' because it is 
pleasant to know.' 

The husband was uncomfortable ; perhaps 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN 65 

suspicious. He glanced about him for a new 
subject, and finally his eye fell upon the round, 
taper arm, sparkling with most incongruous or- 
naments. ' What is that odd bracelet, Mimosa, 
you wear of late ? ' 

' A charm, my lord.' 

Something unusual seemed to arrest the wo- 
man's attention as she spoke, for she peered for 
a moment into the forest, then catching up the 
infant, bounded away. 

1 Fool ! to be frightened by the silly thing/ 
muttered the husband, following her airy flight 
with admiring eyes. ; A charm, indeed ! That 
is not like becoming a Christian ! Oh, why are 
there no wise men, no reasoners, no subtle phi- 
losophers, among my poor countrymen ? Why 
must they go flocking after every new thing 
that rises, like silly pigeons to the snare ? ' 

The Karen chief had been educated as a 
Boodhistic priest, in a Burmese monastery ; and 
had brought to his uncultivated jungle home 
some of the worst characteristics of the people 
among whom he had spent his early days. 
Whatever there might have been kindly in his 
original disposition, it was completely swept 
5 



66 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

under, by the haughty fierceness in which he 
now encased himself, as an armor. To those 
who ministered to his pleasures, and made 
themselves the slaves of his will, he was suf- 
ficiently condescending and indulgent ; but woe 
to that man who dared, even in opinion, to cross 
his track. He was, also, whether from pride, 
or religious principle, exceedingly bigoted ; and 
though he could smile, with pitying contempt, 
on ' charms,' and other superstitions of his de- 
graded countrymen, he could not brook the bare 
mention of the name of Jesus Christ. Only a 
little while previous to the commencement of 
our story, a boat-load of Burmese Christians, 
who had diverged from the Salwen to the Bur- 
mese side, for the purpose of following up the 
Maizeen rivulet, had been insulted, and ordered 
away from his village. Still later, a poor Ka- 
ren, with a bundle of tracts hidden in his rice- 
basket, had been caught, and severely flogged 
before the assembled villagers. 

It was on the day that the Burman boat had 
been sent away, that the pretty young wife of 
the chief wandered down the stream, with an 
old white-haired man, who had accompanied 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 67 

her from her father's house, and been always in 
her confidence. 

1 And you are sure, Pooluah, that my father 
has embraced this religion?' 

6 Sure, my lady.' 

1 And you, Pooluah ?' 

The old man hesitated. He was something 
of a courtier ; but that might not have been his 
only reason for answering, c It is better that my 
lady examine for herself. Old Pooluah is her 
follower.' 

4 Was that the reason you taught me to read 
Burmese — that I might examine for myself? 
Did you think of it then, when I used to lead 
you such a wild race through the paddy-fields? 
Ah, Pooluah, he calls me, when he is fondest, 
his mynah, and it is true. I am a poor caged 
mynah now, and shall never fly again.' 

The old man sighed; and they both relapsed 
into sad, musing silence. 

< My lady,' said Pooluah, at length, peering 
down the river, ' what is that, yonder, like a 
little foam-curl on the water, there by the roots 
of the nodding clerodendron ?' 

4 A cluster of blossoms, I think ; or it may 



68 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

be ' and without waiting for further specu- 
lation, she tripped away to the spot indicated. 
Poising herself on the twisted roots of the clero- 
dendron, she grasped a branch with one hand, 
and leaning far over, she was just able to secure 
with the other the object of the old man's curi- 
osity. 

' A writing ! a writing ! ' she shouted, forget- 
ting all caution in her sudden delight, and 
flourishing her prize aloft. But, at that mo- 
ment, her foot slipped ; the bough by which 
she steadied herself, swept across her face, she 
felt herself seized and dragged upon the bank 
by a stronger arm than that of her age-enfeebled 
attendant, and saw, as she opened her eyes, the 
frowning face of her husband bending over her. 

i Did you mean to drown yourself, Mimosa?' 
he asked, in a tone of suppressed anger. 

4 I might possibly have bathed my foot,' the 
woman answered, with affected carelessness, 
though visibly shuddering as she spoke. She 
had been fully aware, even in the confusion 
occasioned by her slight accident, that there 
was more of fierceness and roughness in her 
husband's mode of saving her, than the danger 



A LEGExND OF THE MAIZEEN. 69 

seemed to warrant ; and she was, moreover, 
conscious of the writing's having been wrench- 
ed from her hand and flung into the rivulet. 

The husband and wife walked back to the 
village together. A couple of fishermen had 
just moved their little boat beside the clump of 
bamboos, and the chief beckoned one of them 
with his hand. 

< Ho, Pantalay!' 

The man came forward, crouching with the 
customary reverence, and squatted respectfully 
at the chieftain's feet. 

' What was that you were telling me, yester- 
day, of the golden book ? ' 

4 My lord!' exclaimed the poor man, with a 
look of terror. 

The chief made ah impatient gesture ; but 
the man's stupidity was incorrigible. 
t c My lord commanded — he — he said the tale 
was false and idle.' 

The Mimosa smiled involuntarily ; and the 
angry chief raised his hand as though to strike 
the stammering offender. He did not strike, 
however, but only reiterated, ' What was it, 
Pantalay ? ' 



70 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

The poor fellow began deprecatingly to repeat 
the tale which only the day before he had been 
ordered never to think of again. The substance 
of it was that a boatman from the lower province 
of Tavoy had reported the arrival of a white 
teacher there, who, by the help of a Karen 
man he had bewitched, was scattering strange 
writings through the jungle. He also averred 
that a golden book had fallen down from 
heaven, threatening the direst vengeance on all 
who presumed to read, or even touch these 
writings. 

' What vengeance, Pantalay?' 

' They — they shall be haunted by demons, 
while they sleep and when they wake. The 
women shall be childless, or bear monsters, and 
the men shall be devoured by tigers on the land, 
and by alligators on the water.' 

< That will do, Pantalay.' 

The chief evidently felt that there had been 
a failure in the poor fisherman's mode of telling 
the tale ; but still it was not without its effect 
on the timid Mimosa. 

A few days after this event, the poor Karen 
book-bearer was apprehended and whipped ; and 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 71 

then crawled away into the jungle, some said, 
to die. Only old Pooluah, and his gentle-hearted 
mistress, knew of a small cave among the 
craggy heights beyond the village, where the 
poor fellow was nursed until his wounds were 
healed, and he was able to make his escape 
over to the English side of the Salwen. Even 
the Mimosa herself had found means to visit 
him, and he had told her all he knew of the 
Christian religion. His knowledge was very 
limited indeed ; but in nothing is the loving 
kindness of our Heavenly Father more beauti- 
fully displayed, than in the simplicity of the 
doctrines which lead to salvation. A theme 
which the angels around the blazing throne have 
not yet fully comprehended, is so completely 
adapted to our human wants, that the weakest 
capacity — nay, even the lowest, and most ani- 
malized nature, needs but the influences of the 
Holy Spirit to be able to put forth a saving 
faith. Old Pooluah drank in the truth with a 
simple earnestness, for which he was already 
prepared by the visit of the Christian boatmen, 
as well as by hints and rumors he had occasion- 
ally heard before he followed his mistress from 



72 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

her old home. The Mimosa, with stronger 
worldly interests, was less trustful and more 
cautious. She looked at her child, and thought 
of the golden book with its terrible maledic- 
tions ; and, though she had sufficient shrewd- 
ness to understand her husband's object, in 
having it related just at that time, she still felt 
strongly impressed by it. From the date of the 
visit of the Burmese boat, which her husband 
had ordered so peremptorily from the village, a 
thoughtful seriousness had gradually infused 
itself into her spirit, and it was deepened by 
every interview with old Pooluah 3 and still more 
with the poor Karen fugitive. A little tract, an 
epitomized ' View of the Christian Religion,' 
written in Burmese, had been conveyed to her 
in a basket of flowers, only an hour before the 
flogging had taken place ; and this she had 
carefully folded together in a deer-skin case, 
elaborately ornamented with wild seeds, and 
bound it on her arm with her other bracelets. 
It was the safest place in which such a treasure 
could be hidden, and would be always at hand 
for perusal. This was the odd bracelet, that, at 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 73 

such an inopportune moment, had attracted the 
attention of her husband. 

* A charm,' she answered, unhesitatingly, to 
his abrupt question ; then, terrified at her dan- 
ger, ashamed of her weakness, and conscious of 
being unable to sustain farther scrutiny, she 
snatched up the child, and hastened away. 
Rapidly she sped along, not venturing to look 
behind to ascertain whether she was pursued, 
now pressing through thick underbrush, now 
mounting some flower-mantled hillock, and 
again plashing across the pretty silver runnels 
that laced the wilderness, till she had left a 
quarter of a league behind her. She was still 
hurrying on, when a familiar voice exclaimed, 
in some surprise, ' My lady ! ' It was old 
Pooluah, who was returning from a foraging ex- 
pedition, his withered frame more than usually 
bowed beneath the heavy bundle of fresh herbs 
he had just been gathering. 

' Has anything happened, my lady ? ' 

( Happened! no ; but there will — there must, 
and I almost wish it would come now.' 

' Look to the Lord Jesus Christ, my lady. He 



74 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

is strong. He never deserts them who put their 
trust in Him.' 

1 I do not put my trust in Him, Pooluah. I 
am not a Christian. When you are in trouble, 
you can pray like the poor book-bearer, and your 
mind becomes cool and happy. I cannot. I do 
not trust Him. I shrink, I tremble, and dare 
not even tell the truth.' 

'My lady— ' 

' I said just now, Pooluah, that it was a charm 
I wore upon my arm. I told a falsehood, and 
all from fear. I am a poor, timid woman, and 
I can never be a Christian.' 

' My dear lady, you are sorely tempted. But 
try — try, my sweet mistress, to bring your 
trouble to the Lord. He will take it willingly. 
He has trodden all these dark ways, and he 
knows every step. Cannot you trust Him, my 
lady?' 

The woman shook her head. ' I am a poor, 
caged mynah, and must obey my keeper. I 
thought his mind was softened, Pooluah, for he 
talked of our common sin, as though sorry for 
it ; so I ventured to tell him there was a way 
of escape, and he was — oh, so angry! If it 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



75 



had been red anger, I might have braved it, but 
it was the white heat, that emits no sparkles. 
He says he will kill me, if I become a Christian. 
I am young to die — and the grave is so dark 
— and I cannot take my little white-souled 
blossom with me, if I could! I am young to 
die, Pooluah.' And the poor, helpless creature 
threw herself upon the sod, and wept passion- 
ately. The old man lowered the bundle of 
herbs from his head, slid the heavy satchel from 
his shoulder, and sat down beside her. 

* Old Pooluah's sun is almost down, my lady, 
and his life is worth but little. Would that it 
were fresh and bright, as in other days, and he 
might be permitted to give it in exchange for 
thine.' 

1 1 know you love me, my faithful Pooluah ; 
but you are all.' 

' The Lord Jesus Christ loves you, my lady.' 

1 I cannot feel it- — I dare not think of it. The 
way is dark, dark.' 

1 He gave His royal limbs to the torture, and 
His body to the tomb, for you, my lady. It is 
dark, the world is all dark ; but He came down 
from glory, and waded through the darkness and 



76 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



the sorrow, for you, my dear lady, for you. You 
think old Pooluah is faithful, because he would 
not keep back this little fragment of a worn-out 
life from his mistress' service — the Lord gave 
all, and He is all-powerful. Trust in Him, my 
lady — lay your little white-souled blossom on 
His bosom — lay your sorrows at His feet — and 
the shadow of Death itself will never make you 
afraid.' 

Thus, in a low, tender tone, as a mother might 
soothe her frightened infant, the old man's words 
mingled with the passionate sobbings of the 
young matron, and settled, like a healing balsam, 
on her heart. 

' But I denied Him, Pooluah ; and denied 
Him insultingly. I said it was a charm I 
wore — ' 

' It was in a moment of weakness, my lady ; 
you were sorely tempted. Call upon the Lord. 
He is a pitying Redeemer. Ask Him to forgive 
you, to strengthen you, to support you in the 
hour of trial, and when the way is all dark, look 
to Him, my lady, and light will come.' 

From the day of this conversation, a change 
began to be perceptible in the once timid 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 77 

Mimosa, which gradually pervaded her entire 
character. She seemed, by degrees, endowed 
with a sublime courage, a spirit like that of the 
martyrs of old, sufficient to buoy her above all 
fear. This was too apparent in the serene, 
elevated expression of her countenance, and her 
general bearing, to escape the observation of the 
villagers ; who whispered to one another that 
she had probably received some intelligence from 
her father, which enabled her to brave her hus- 
band's more than suspected tyranny. But the 
real cause of the transformation was not long 
hidden. Ashamed of the falsehood, which she 
interpreted into a denial of her faith, the repent- 
ant young believer unbound the bracelet from 
her arm, threw the deer-skin case into the river, 
and sought no other concealment for the book 
than one of the hollow bamboo rafters of her 
dwelling — so easy of access, and in such com- 
mon use, as to be a mere depository, rather than 
a hiding-place. But this was not all. Defying 
all the cautions of the faithful Pooluah, she 
began whispering the glad news of salvation 
among the villagers ; and so much was she 
beloved, and the fearful vengeance of her hus- 



78 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

band so much dreaded, that even the most 
uncompromising Boodhists failed to betray her. 
So month after month passed by, and seasons 
came and went. There were no withering leaves 
or falling snows — our way-marks through the 
year — but yet the circling seasons left their 
footprints on the tropic jungle, scarcely less 
strongly marked than on our rugged shores. 

The amber sunlight of a rich October day 
was deepening into purple, when the young 
jungle matron sat watching the gambols of her 
boy, and musing on the prospect of yet another 
little being, which might ere long be intrusted 
to her care to train for immortality. Her piety 
had deepened very perceptibly during the pass- 
ing year, and a meek, trustful wisdom had grad- 
ually infused itself into her spirit, softening and 
ripening her whole character. The little book 
was now so much worn by frequent use, as to 
be in many places illegible ; but the truths it 
contained were perfectly familiar to the young 
matron, though still she loved to read them from 
the page where they had first met her eye and 
heart. With this object, she took the book from 
a little pocket she had made for it in her tunic, 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 79 

and was soon absorbed in its contents. She was 
roused by a rough grasp on her shoulder, and a 
voice in stern, angry accents, exclaiming, ' Wo- 
man ! woman ! what have you here ? ' For 
a moment her brain reeled, and her heart grew 
faint ; for though she had expected an hour like 
this to come, it had been so long delayed, that 
she had ceased to look for it momentarily, as at 
first. She, however, retained sufficient com- 
posure of manner to answer, though somewhat 
tremulously, ' It is a — a foreign book, my 
lord.' 

< One of those vile books ' 

* It is not a vile book,' interrupted the woman, 
dauntless!). 

4 Which — which I commanded you not to 
touch ! ' 

( Should I not obey God rather than ' 

< Silence, babbler ! slave ! ' — Then smothering 
his rage again, 'Bat where is the traitor that 
dared to give you this ? ' 

4 I had it, my lord, of the poor fellow, who a 
year ago w r as whipped for having Christian 
books in his rice-basket.' 

* And you have kept it ever since ? ' 



80 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

' I have, my lord.' 

i And read it?' 

' 1 have.' 

He snatched the book from her hand, and 
tore it into fragments. 

i That is useless, my lord. It matters little 
to destroy the paper, when every word is cut 
into my memory.' 

4 You will not say that you believe that 
book ? ' 

< I do.' 

'And you dare tell me this! — that you are 
an idiot — a mountebank — a — a — ' 

4 1 am a Christian, my lord.' 

The stern man shook with concentrated 
passion ; but still he so far mastered it, as to 
proceed with his examination. 

1 Who knows you are — what you say ? ' 

The woman was silent. 

i Speak ! I command you/ 

4 I cannot tell, my lord.' 

' What ! you — you — you — defy me ? ' 

4 1 will answer all questions that concern my- 
self, my lord, but farther than that, I cannot.* 

4 You refuse, then, to mention your accom- 
plices.' 



A LEGExND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



81 



1 1 refuse to betray my friends.' 

The brawny arm seemed to leap into the air, 
with the quick violence of overwhelming rage, 
and the next moment the courageous young 
wife lay writhing upon the earth, a crimson 
stream gushing from her distended mouth. 
With a wild, unearthly cry, which drew a dozen 
villagers to the spot, the strange man threw 
himself beside his victim, his fierce anger in a 
moment yielding to the still more terrific fury of 
his grief. 

* I have killed her! I have killed her! her — 
my golden lily — my bundle of musk! I have 
darkened my eyes ! I have torn the heart from 
my bosom ! I am a murderer, sinking down — 
down — down to the lowest hell. Oh, Mimosa ! 
my beautiful, pitying Mimosa ! do not begin the 
torments now, while yet thy lip is warm with 
life. Speak to me! oh speak, Mimosa! I meant 
not to strike. It was the demon in me, and not 
my hand. One little word — one breath — my 
beautiful, my loved, my lost Mimosa!' And 
while, with all the energy of that one anguish- 
stricken voice, the death-wail rang through the 
jungle, the villagers, aw r ed and terrified, dared 
6 



82 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 



not so much as lay a finger upon the murdered 
woman. Old Pooluah was the last to reach 
the spot. With one deep, heart-crushing in- 
spiration, he sprang forward, and taking his 
mistress in his arms, bore her to the shelter of 
her own home. 

For hours there was a faint fluttering of the 
pulse, and an occasional tremulous motion of 
the eyelids ; but that was all. Old Pooluah 
watched beside his mistress, and two or three 
women moved noiselessly about the room ; but 
the husband came not, all through the dreary 
night. At last, when the first ray of morning 
shot through the open door, the dying Mimosa 
opened wide her joyous eyes. 

4 Pooluah ! ' she called. 

The old man stooped above her. 

4 Dear, faithful Pooluah, take the little boy to 
my father, and tell him — oh, tell him how 
sweet it is to die. Though so young, and so 
unworthy, I am permitted first to enter the 
celestial gate, and there I wait both you and 
him. How beautiful ! how glorious ! \ 

"With that rejoicing smile upon her lip, the 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 83 

young Christian passed away — slept in Jesus ; 
and another life slept with her. 

The stern chief never returned to his village, 
and his fate was never clearly known. Some 
told how, on the night of the direful tragedy, 
a party of boatmen near the mouth of the 
Maizeen, had seen a crouching figure pass 
fleetly as a shadow, just outside their circle of 
camp-fires. They hailed him, but received no 
answer. A quarter of an hour afterwards, a 
wild, terrible cry of mortal agony rang from the 
jungle, and with trembling hands the men 
brightened their watch-fires, and grasped their 
spears, and so sat with unclosed eyes till morn- 
ing. As the dawn advanced, the little party 
gathered more courage ; and finally, fully armed, 
ventured forward in the direction of the cry. 
Parting the thick boughs, not more than a 
hundred rods from where they had encamped, 
they found the underbrush crushed and trampled, 
and the sod besmeared with gore. A small 
crimson pool had settled down into a leafy hol- 
low, and a muslin turban, torn and blood-stained, 
lay at a little distance on the ground. Remem- 
bering that the tiger which has once tasted 



84 A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 

human blood is never satisfied with a single 
victim, the men returned hastily to their boat. 
The more sanguinary of the villagers, as they 
told this story, were wont to illustrate its mean- 
ing and application with expressive glances and 
gestures, though they never by words indicated 
any positive suspicion as to the victim. 

Then some gentle spirit would take up the 
tale, and describe a bent, hollow-eyed, witless 
man, who haunted the suburbs and lanes of 
Martaban, muttering to himself continually, 
and appearing startled when overheard, as 
though he had betrayed some secret. It was 
remarked that he dwelt with strange pertinacity 
on one word, which might be a name, since he 
whispered it so beseechingly, by the hour to- 
gether; but those persons who were curious 
enough to listen, were surprised to learn that he 
only addressed a pretty plant, such as is often 
found in the neighborhood of deserted monas- 
teries, and the leaves of which are wont to 
shrivel and fall to the ground at the slightest 
touch. Then the narrator would look into the 
incredulous faces of the propagators of the 
tiger-tale, and nod his head significantly, and say 



A LEGEND OF THE MAIZEEN. 85 

what an odd fancy it was that the chief should 
have named his pretty wife Mimosa. 

Sometimes a singular story of a sound man 
herding with lepers, and voluntarily performing 
the most menial offices of the community, was 
darkly hinted at. And there was yet another 
tale afloat, of a hermit-priest, who inhabited 
the beautiful little gem of an island in the 
Salwen, known as Goungzakyoon. But the 
narratives relating to this last named personage 
were of a shifting, mythic order ; and as they 
were put forth by the more bigoted of the 
Boodhistic party, they obtained but little cre- 
dence from the greater number of the Karens. 



Note. — The recorder of the above legend does not 
vouch for its accuracy ; none of the particulars having 
come under the personal observation of the friend from 
whom she received it. As a story quite current among 
the early Karen Christians, however, and neither unnatural 
nor improbable in its general features, (though the principal 
characters are certainly more Burmese than Karen,) it 
bears the stamp of truth. The writer, in giving the rela- 
tion an English dress, has taken the liberty to divest it of 
some of the childish mysteries which cluster around it, 
and to reduce it, as far as possible, to the order of a simple 
narrative. 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 

Many years ago, a lady sat in the verandah 
of her Burmese bungalow, endeavoring to deci- 
pher the scarcely legible characters of a palm-leaf 
book, which lay in all its awkwardness upon 
the table before her. A beautiful beetle, with 
just gold enough on his bright green wings to 
distinguish him from the glossy leaves of the 
Cape Jasmine, which grew close by the balus- 
trade, was balancing himself upon one of the 
rich white blossoms that filled the whole air 
with their fragrance ; while a gay-plumaged 
bird, with a strange sort of a feathery coronal 
upon his head, was making himself busy among 
the rank grass beyond. Still farther on, a long- 
necked chamelion clung to the trunk of a guava 
tree, throwing back his snake-like head, and 
darting his inquisitive little eyes about very 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 87 

suspiciously ; a green-coated robber of a parrot 
nestled among the fruit and foliage above ; and 
below, and all around, a whole school of crows 
flapped their black wings, and wheeled, and 
flattered, and cawed, with amazing industry and 
volubility. It is in vain to try to enumerate the 
lady's strange visitors, but they were such as 
any of you might see of a bright morning in 
Burmah, and very attractive you would find 
them — much more attractive, I have no doubt, 
than the long palm-leaf books, all smeared with 
oil, to make their circular scratches legible. 
From a little bamboo shelter — a curious thatch- 
ed roof set upon poles, just beyond the high, 
uncropped hedge, and dignified by the name of 
schoolhouse — came a sound of mingled voices, 
very cheerful, very earnest, and, to stranger ears, 
about as intelligible as the cawing of the crows. 
But the lady understood it all ; and it told her 
that her native schoolmaster was doing his duty, 
and his tawny pupils making some proficiency 
in the them-bong gyee, or a-b, ab talk. Kah gyee 
yd, ka — kah gyee yd kya, kah — kah gyee yd 
long gyee ten, ke — kah gyee yd long gyee ten 
l san cat, kee, came the confused sounds — a very 



88 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 



circuitous way of saying k-a, ka — k-e, ke, — 
' Don't you think so ? ' 

As the lady bent over her book, a little more 
wearily than in the freshness of the morning, 
and made a renewed effort to fix her eyes on 
the dizzying circles, a strange looking figure 
bounded through the opening in the hedge 
which served as a gateway, and rushing toward 
her, with great eagerness inquired, ' Does Jesus 
Christ live here ? ' 

He was a boy, perhaps twelve years of age ; 
his coarse black hair unconfined by the usual 
turban, matted with filth, and bristling in every 
direction like the quills of a porcupine ; and a 
very dirty cloth of plaided cotton disposed in 
the most slovenly manner about his person. 

' Does Jesus Christ live here ? ' he inquired, 
scarcely pausing for breath, though slackening 
his pace a little as he made his way, uninvited, 
up the steps of the verandah, and crouched at 
the lady's feet. 

' What do you want of Jesus Christ ? ' in- 
quired the lady. 

' I want to see him — I want to confess to 
him.' 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 



89 



1 Why, what have you been doing, that you 
want to confess ? ' 

1 Does he live here?'' — with great emphasis, 
— ' I want to know that. Doing! Why, I tell 
lies, I steal, I do everything bad — I am afraid 
of going to hell, and I want to see Jesus Christ, 
for I heard one of the Loo-gyees* say that he 
can save us from hell. Does he live here ? 
Oh, tell me where I can find Jesus Christ.' 

'But he does not save people from hell, if 
they continue to do wickedly.' 

' I want to stop doing wickedly, but I can't 
stop — I don't know how to stop — the evil 
thoughts are in me, and the bad deeds come of 
evil thoughts. What can I do ? ' 

' Nothing, but come to Christ, poor boy, 
like all the rest of us,' the lady softly mur- 
mured ; but she spoke this last in English, so 
the boy only raised his head with a vacant, — 
<B' ha-lai?' 

1 You cannot see Jesus Christ now — ' 

She was interrupted by a sharp quick cry of 
despair. 

* Chief men. 



90 THE JUNGLE BOY. 

' But I am his humble friend and follower ! — 

The face of the listener brightened a little. 

' And he has commissioned me to teach all 
those who wish to escape from hell, how to do 
so.' 

The joyful eagerness depicted in the poor 
boy's countenance, was beyond description. 
' Tell me — oh tell me! Only ask your Master 
the Lord Jesus Christ, to save me, and I will be 
your servant, your slave, for life. Do not be 
angry ! Do not send me away ! I want to be 
saved — saved from hell ! ' 

The lady, you will readily believe, was not 
likely to be angry. Even the person who told 
me the story many years after, was more than 
once interrupted by his own choking tears. 

The next day a new pupil was welcomed to 
the little bamboo schoolhouse, in the person of 
the wild Karen boy ; for no missionary having 
yet been sent especially to that people, they 
received all their religious instructions through 
the medium of the Burmese language. And 
oh, such a greedy seeker after truth and holiness! 
Every day he came to the white teachers to 
learn something more concerning the Lord Jesus 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 



91 



Christ, and the way of salvation ; and every day 
his mind seemed to open, his feelings to enlarge, 
and his face to lose some portion of that inde- 
scribable look of stupidity which characterizes 
the uncultivated native. 

In due time, a sober band of worshippers 
gathered around the pool in the little hollow by 
the bridge, to witness a solemn baptism ; then 
a new face was seen among those who came to 
commemorate the dying love of the Lord Jesus ; 
and a new name was written on the church 
records. 

Years passed away. Death had laid his hand 
upon the gentle lady, and she had gone up to 
that sweet home where pain and sorrow are 
unknown, and where i the weary are at rest.' 
On earth, another death scene was enacting. A 
strong, dark-browed man tossed wildly on his 
fevered couch in an agony of physical suffering ; 
but even then his unconscious lips murmured 
continually those precious fragments of scripture 
which he had treasured up in days of health. 
At last there came a fearful struggle — then the 
convulsed features relaxed, the ghastliness of 
death settled upon them, and the spirit seemed 



92 



THE JUNGLE BOY. 



to have taken its flight. Suddenly, however, 
the countenance of the dying man was lighted 
with a heavenly radiance, his lips parted with a 
smile, his eye emitted a single joyful flash, 
before it turned cold and motionless forever ; and 
then the wild boy of the jungle was welcomed 
by his waiting angel-guide, to the presence of 
that Saviour whom he had sought with such 
eagerness. 



TRIBUTE TO REV. DANIEL HASCALL. 

Lo ! with a solemn tread, 

The mourning train sweep by, 
Bearing the sainted dead, 

To where his loved ones lie ; 
Down in his bed of clay, 

They lay him to his rest, 
The sun-light shut away, 

And the clod upon his breast. 

Will they the marble bring ? — 

Nay, look around and see 
How many a nobler thing 

His monument shall be. 
Behold yon classic walls,* 

Embalmed in love and prayer, 
Pause in the shadowy halls, — 

His monument is there ! 

* In the year 1817, Mr. Hascall commenced a theological 
school in the village of Hamilton, N. Y., with the two mis- 



94 TRIBUTE TO REV. DANIEL HASCALL. 

And with enduring art, 

Is sculptured his fair fame, 
Upon each living heart, 

That thrills beneath his name. 
"Where waves the tropic palm, 

Where ice-bound fir-trees grow, 
'Mid island groves of balm, 

'Mid northern wilds of snow, 

Tho' his name be never heard, 

The deeds of love he 's wrought, 
Are told in every word, 

Are mirrored in each thought ; 
"While angels stooping down, 

On fondly fluttering wing, 
Pluck jewels for the crown 

Of our Eternal King. 

Those jewels saved in heaven, 

And the garnered prayers and tears, 

All good for which he 's striven, 
Through weary, toilsome years ; 

sionaries, Wade and Kincaid, for his first pupils. The school, 
which has now grown into a University, has, probably, con- 
tributed as large a number of devoted and practical men to 
the mission enterprise, as any similar institution in America. 



TRIBUTE TO REV. DANIEL IIASCALL. 95 

Up in that world of rest, 

His monument shall be; 
For the spring his finger pressed, 

Has moved eternity. 



THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 



Among the various opinions which prevail 
with regard to the qualifications most desirable 
in a missionary, care must be taken that the 
building and garnishing do not occupy too 
prominent a position, to the detriment of the 
richer inheritance of the spirit. Devotion to 
Christ and love to man are, after all, the great 
qualifications. 

Some seven or eight years ago, there came to 
Maulmain a fine old British officer, who had in 
the dawn of his career served in the Peninsular 
wars, and brought away a French love-token, 
in the shape of an honorable scar, from the 
battle of Salamanca. He was an earnest, active, 
fearless sort of a man, and yet not particularly 
gifted with anything, except the life-giving in- 
fluences of the Holy Spirit. In his regiment he 



THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 97 

was a sort of dissenting chaplain ; in the little 
English church he was the first in every good 
word and work ; and in the prison and hospital 
he was like a ministering angel, until forbidden 
by his superior to degrade his office by familiar 
intercourse with the common soldier ; and then 
he submissively took his stand in the doorway, 
and read and preached the gospel to the sick 
and the friendless within. Thus much for his 
own countrymen — but that was not all. His 
association with the American missionaries 
opened a new field of usefulness, and in spite 
of jeers, reproaches and expostulations, he en- 
tered upon it manfully. By the help of a 
Burmese Christian, who had been taught the 
English, he went up street and down, preaching 
the gospel to all he met, and distributing tracts 
from the ample satchel of his interpreter. He 
also stood in the zayat by the wayside, assailing 
every passer-by ; he entered the lowly doors of 
the lowliest natives ; and in the monasteries he 
boldly opposed his own commission to the lofty 
pretensions of the proud proprietors of the shaven 
crown and yellow robe. 

Now that is the sort of man, whatever his 
7 



98 THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 

other qualifications may be, most needed in the 
great missionary work. The command of the 
Lord Jesus Christ, < Go ye into all the world, and 
preach the gospel to every creature,' was not 
addressed to ministers alone, and is no more 
restricted to a particular style of man, or a 
particular set of qualifications, than it was to 
the twelve disciples. The commission includes 
every man, woman and child who loves the 
Saviour. It is addressed personally and distinct- 
ly to each one ; and whoever evades it in this 
enlightened age, should at least be prepared 
with reasons to present at the bar of God. 
Every converted soul has a duty to perform to 
his fellow-men. If he cannot go — if he is 
sure, positively sure, that he has an excuse 
which will stand the searching light of eternity, 
let him stay at home, and help others go. But 
if he has not that excuse, he is disobeying the 
last positive command of his ascending Lord. 
And though, through the sufferings of that 
slighted Saviour, he may be so forgiven as not 
to prove an outcast from the realms of bliss, just 
so sure as i one star differeth from another star 
in glory,' will he be crippled for his remissness, 



THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 99 

throughout the never-ending ages of eternity. 
I am advocating no wild theory ; I speak the 
words of truth and soberness. And in doing 
so, I appeal to conscious hearts. Are there not 
hundreds — aye, thousands of truly converted 
men in our American churches, — who dare not 
— dare not enter the closet, and there, making 
an unreserved consecration of self, solemnly 
pray for light on the subject of personal duty ? 
No ; I will make no such general appeal ; but 
you — you who hold this paper — dare you do 
it ? Have you ever done it ? "Will you do it 
now, or do you fear the result? 

4 1 have an extensive business.' 

Ah ! ' I have bought five yoke of oxen.' That 
is it. 

4 1 have a family.' 

{ He that loveth son or daughter — ' Take 
care ! 

* I am approaching middle age.' 

And therefore should make the greater haste, 
remembering at the same time, for your en- 
couragement, that 'they received every man a 
penny.' 

' 1 believe the conversion of the world is to 



100 THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 

be a gradual thing.' It is to be feared that it 
will, until persecution scatters the church, which 
is hedging herself round with worldly comforts, 
and forgetting the noble purpose for which she 
was raised up. And there are things in the 
political and religious horizon, which foretell a 
day of persecution, now not far distant. 

But I am wandering from my subject. While 
the great mass of Christians are waiting to be 
driven out, while one only in thousands will go 
or can be sent, should not that one be of the 
very choicest kind ? Yes, as has been often said, 
the church must yield up her jewels, her richest 
and her brightest. But what is it that con- 
stitutes the brightness of the Christian jewel? 
What was it that made the face of Moses to 
shine, when he came forth from communion 
with God ? Yes, let the church give her best 
men — men of the warmest hearts, the strongest 
faith, the most prayerful spirits — men, who 
think meanly of themselves, and feel that they 
are honored in being permitted to engage in 
this Christ-like work — and not that their poor 
weak intellects, and paltry accomplishments, 
confer honor on the cause. That is what is 



THE MOST EFFICIENT MISSIONARIES. 101 

holding back the chariot-wheels of God. Wise 
men think they stoop, they condescend, when 
they become missionaries. Well, let the wise 
men — the Pharisees and Sadducees — go their 
ways. Take the humble, zealous, faithful fish- 
ermen of Galilee, and God will use the weak 
things of this world to confound the mighty. 
Men, whose hearts are overflowing with the love 
of Christ, in whatever walks of life they may 
be found, will always make the friost efficient 
missionaries. 



MISAPPREHENSION. 

By the September number of the Macedonian, 
I perceive that some loose remarks of mine in a 
former number, have had the misfortune to be 
entirely misunderstood ; and that, too, by an old 
friend, and once spiritual instructor. In the 
article entitled ' The most Efficient Missiona- 
ries,' there was certainly no intended disparage- 
ment of talent and learning. But, as these 
constitute a species of riches in little danger of 
being undervalued at the present age, and fully 
able to vindicate their own claim to honor and 
preferment; while calling attention to matters 
of higher importance, it seemed perfectly safe 
to leave this point to its own natural guards: 
The writer of ' Missionary Qualifications,' how- 
ever, viewing the subject from a different side, 
seems to regard the omission as a declaration of 
mischievous sentiments : and so has taken a 



MISAPPREHENSION. 103 

more antagonistic position probably than he is 
aware of. His article appears based on the sup- 
position [appears only, for he surely cannot mean 
it), that Christianity is equally honored by all 
who actually possess it ; or, in other words, that 
there are no higher spiritual attainments, than 
those which are ' indispensable to every Chris- 
tian character.' ' In enumerating,' says he, < the 
qualifications of a man for manual labor, it is 
needless to state that he has a hand? True, but 
is it not very important to know what that hand 
may be in the way of muscular power and 
general adaptedness to the proposed object ? 
< In speaking,' he continues, c of the fitness of 
one for mental labor, it is unnecessary to premise 
that he has a mind? Is it not a question of 
some moment, however, what sort of mind he 
has ? < And,' he concludes, c in speaking of the 
qualifications of a Christian missionary, it need 
not be said he is a Christian. That is taken for 
granted,' &c. And is that really enough ? After 
the granted fact, that a Christian missionary is 
a Christian, do his mental powers come next in 
review ? So should not one of the most devoted 
of modern missionaries even seem to teach. As 



104 MISAPPREHENSION. 

though there were no grades of spiritual life ! 
as though it were a matter of little or no 
importance that they who stand nearest the 
Master, and enter most deeply into His counsels 
should proclaim His will ; or as though the work 
might be trusted with equal confidence to the 
half-hearted disciple, who follows afar off, and 
has his vision dimmed and his hearing dulled 
by the thousand earthly shapes and sounds that 
intervene ! 

After admitting the gospel messenger to the 
matter-of-course community of ' love to God 
and love to man,' what are ' the gifts and graces 
peculiar to the ministry ? ' Surely not those 
mental powers shared by the instructor, the 
physician, and the lawyer. Oh, no ! Infinitely 
beyond these are the higher gifts and graces of 
the Spirit — not peculiar indeed to any profes- 
sion, because attainable by every child of God, 
but preeminently the qualifications essential to 
the minister and the missionary. Oh, it is not 
true, it cannot be true, that the grand intellec- 
tual i lion ' is of more use in the vineyard of the 
Lord, than the faithful i dog,' watching his 
Master's eye, and obeying the slightest indica- 



MISAPPREHENSION. 105 

tion of His will. True, the lion may be used 
upon occasion, because the Hand that made has 
power to tame him ; and so effectually may he 
be tamed, as to stand forth a most beautiful and 
symmetrical exhibition of the power of Divine 
Grace. We have had such lions in our own 
age, raised up for special purposes ; and in the 
apostolic age, Paul was one ; and farther back, 
passing by many others, stands Moses. But the 
real power of these wonderful men (giving full 
credit to their intellectual greatness) was not an 
original inheritance, nor the superadded culture 
and accomplishments incident to their position. 
By faith, Moses wrought ; and by the inspiration 
of God, Paul reasoned. 

The allusion to the apostle James at Jerusa- 
lem, starts quite another topic. Were the 
question asked me, which stand most in need of 
a high order of talent, severe mental discipline, 
and varied attainments, the pastors of Boston, 
New York, and Philadelphia, or the missionaries 
of China, Burmah, and other eastern lands, — I 
should have no hesitation in saying, the latter, 
by a hundred-fold. The one wields a limited, 
however important influence in a polished com- 



106 MISAPPREHENSION. 

munity ; the other, under God, sways the des- 
tinies of a nation. The one needs skill in using 
the instruments furnished to his hand ; the other 
must have the science to investigate, and the 
genius to create. England develops her strong- 
est, her most powerful minds, in the rich soil of 
the Orient ; and there, too, must the American 
churches look for their great men — men who, 
in accordance with the Saviour's type of great- 
ness, have become voluntary servants of their 
brethren. This position might be proved by 
argument and by illustration. It might be 
shown how, in sending out different kinds of 
material, the lead had become silver, and the 
brass gold ; and how the gold had been refined 
and polished till men were astonished at its 
brightness ; but offering a premium to ambition 
might prove a yet more dangerous experiment 
than the deprecated i premium to ignorance.' 

So, since it seems necessary to define one's 
position accurately, the ' objections ' of the 
writer { to ministerial education and missionary 
qualifications,' stand something on this wise. 
God has made it our duty to cultivate the minds 
he has given us to the extent of their capacities, 



MISAPPREHENSION. 107 

so far as we have means and opportunity ; and 
ignorance, at the present day, except under 
peculiar and uncontrollable circumstances, is a 
sin. Let our spiritual teachers, both at home 
and abroad, be men of disciplined minds and 
habits, endowed with intellectual graces and 
manly accomplishments to the full ; but let them 
know and feel that, after all, these are, in the 
great work of the Lord, only secondary quali- 
fications. The strong, throbbing pulse of spir- 
itual life ; the meek, self-denying soul, attuned 
to the harmonious breathings of the great Com- 
forter ; the c lips touched with a live coal from 
the altar ' of God ; and the heart so Christ-like 
in its great, wide-spreading love, as to thrill be- 
neath every touch of human sympathy — these 
are the ' gifts and graces ' without which even 
a Paul would labor in vain. These are things 
not depending on human wisdom, and as far 
above it as the Word of God is above all human 
books ; and these, I repeat, in whatever walks of 
life they may be found, will ever constitute the 
most efficient missionary. 



THE WAN REAPERS. 

I came from a land where a beautiful light 
Is slow creeping o'er hill-top and vale ; 

Where broad is the field, and the harvest is 
white, 
But the reapers are haggard and pale. 

All wasted and worn with their wearisome toil, 
Still they pause not — that brave little band ; 

Though soon their low pillows must be the 
strange soil 
Of that distant and grave-dotted strand. 

For dangers uncounted are clustering there, — 
The pestilence stalks uncontrolled ; 

Strange poisons are borne on the soft, languid 
air, 
And lurk in each leafs fragrant fold. 

There the rose never blooms on fair woman's 
wan cheek, 



THE WAN REAPERS. 109 

But there 's beautiful light in her eye ; 
And the smile that she wears is so loving and 
meek, 
None can doubt it comes down from the sky. 

There the strong man is bowed in his youth's 
golden prime, 
But he cheerily sings at his toil, 
For he thinks of his sheaves and the garnering 
time 
Of the glorious Lord of the soil. 

And ever they turn — that brave, wan, little 
band — 
A long, wistful gaze on the "West : — 
' Do they come — do they come from that dear, 
distant land. 
That land of the lovely and blest ? 

' Do they come — do they come ? — Oh, we 're 
feeble and wan, 
And we're passing like shadows away ; 
But the harvest is white, — and lo ! yonder the 
dawn! 
For laborers — for laborers we pray ! ' 



THE HEATHEN BETTER THAN 
CHRISTIANS. 



* It is not to be denied, that people are worse in Chris- 
tendom than in heathen lands. My own belief is, that there 
is more evil of a soul-destroying character committed in 
London in one year, than in Hindostan in ten years ; and 
that London, Paris, and New York stand more in need of 
missionaries than all heathendom. 

* If they ' [Messrs. Judson and Parker] * were to spend as 
much time in some parts of Christendom, as they have spent 
in heathen lands, I doubt not that they would agree with me, 
that " Charity begins at home." 

' Paul says, " For when the Gentiles, which have not the 
law, do by nature the things contained in the law, those 
having not the law, are a law unto themselves;" and 
throughout the whole chapter where he thus speaks, clearly 
shows that if the Gentiles do what is right according to this 
law written upon their hearts, they will be accepted.' — Cor- 
respondent of the Columbia?! Magazine. 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. Ill 

This is certainly an age of wonderful dis- 
coveries — discoveries in ethics, as well as in 
physics ; but it has been reserved for the ' Prince 
of moralists' to make the most astounding 
revelation of all — to announce to a Christian 
community, that Christianity is actually demor- 
alizing. True, there have been open, every-day 
practices in Hindostan, that would make the 
vilest wretches who congregate in St. Giles or 
at the Five Points, turn pale with horror ; but 
then, the sin was not of ' a soul-destroying char- 
acter,' for these happy heathen were < a law unto 
themselves,' until English law and Christian mis- 
sionaries cast a blight upon their pristine purity, 
and converted into crime such petty pastimes 
as drowning an infant, burning a widow, or 
training a whole caste to the pious trade of 
assassinating the lonely traveller. 

The sea-weary voyager, entering the Bay of 
Bengal, will no doubt look upon the group of 
beautiful islands, which sit upon the waters, 
wrapped in their mantle of soft, purple light, as 
an oriental Eden; and they are, indeed, not 
only peculiarly oriental, but one of those Edens 
where men are <a law unto themselves.' If a 



112 HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 

vessel be stranded on their coast, the affrighted 
crew will commit themselves to the wildest 
hurricane seaward, in preference to the tender 
mercies of paradisiacal arrows and cooking- 
pots. It has been confidently asserted that the 
delicate stomachs of this primitive race of men, 
turn in disgust from all inferior viands, to dine 
with peculiar zest off a barbecued European ; 
but as no man has ever returned to tell the tale 
of his having been eaten, the gentle Andama- 
ners are certainly entitled to the benefit of a 
doubt. I think, however, that no missionary 
will rashly covet the distinction of putting the 
matter to the test ; and so philanthropists of a 
certain school may have the pleasure of know- 
ing that the vices of Christianity will probably 
be slow in reaching the Andamans. Then there 
are the Khonds — what a charming people they 
are, to be sure, with their primitive, unsophisti- 
cated ways! And what a pity that narrow- 
minded, meddling Christians should interfere 
with such beautiful arrangements as penning up 
bands of boys and girls, to be fattened and 
scientifically sliced, that their yet palpitating 
flesh and bubbling blood may manure the soil of 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 113 

their native plains. "What a pity that the mis- 
sionaries, who are now feeding, clothing, and 
instructing the five hundred and forty youths 
rescued from a doom so exceedingly primeval 
in its Cain-like simplicity, had not remained in 
London, making money for their own children, 
and training them up to imitate parental self- 
ishness — to believe that l Charity begins at 
home,' and ends there ! And what a pity that 
any lady, occupying the social position of the 
two who serve to point the moral of our author's 
tale — a lady who, as everybody knows, can 
find abundance of time to dress, shop, visit, 
embroider pretty ottomans, read pleasing stories, 
and do whatever else fancy may dictate — what 
a pity that she, with her half dozen children, 
actually revelling in the rich blessings of a 
Christian home, should occasionally spare an 
hour to a missionary magazine, and a dollar 
to the mission treasury, in behalf of the or- 
phaned, the desolate, and degraded of another 
land ! 

Absurd as the broad assertion of our moralist 
may appear to those who have been favored with 
a wider field of observation, it is only the carica- 
8 



114 HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 

ture of a sentiment in which a certain class of 
philanthropists seem to take especial delight. 
In proof of this, one need but glance at the 
pretty pictures of American savages and dark- 
eyed orientals, which figure so largely in po- 
etry and romance ; and which are about as 
true to the original, as would be a mortal's map 
of fairy-land. And if the missionary's daring 
pencil venture upon a few of the black shadows, 
which in truth constitute nine tenths of the real 
landscape, — why, he is a poor, plodding sort of 
a creature, incapable of appreciating anything 
estimable beyond the pale of his own church, 
and quite ignorant of the world, of course. 
True, he may have travelled the earth over, and 
been conversant with men of every nation and 
every grade, but it is all the same. His views 
are so shockingly literal, — he is such an utter 
stranger to the rosy, refracting atmosphere sur- 
rounding men of taste, that it is evident even to 
persons whose observations of human nature 
have been necessarily bounded by the magic 
limits of ' our set} and whose travels have 
never extended beyond the streets of their na- 
tive town, that he does not know the world! 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 115 

But then he is to be respected in a certain way ; 
for though he has spent the prime of his days 
in beating his head against a wall for the good 
of all mankind, he meant well, poor fellow ! — 
and, without entering too deeply into the deli- 
cate subject of intellect, it may be boldly as- 
serted, that his sympathies are limited only by 
his ignorance and prejudice. 

Well, the big heart is some compensation for 
the shallow brain ; and so I will venture to as- 
sure certain young persons, who read the Mace- 
donian as a duty, and some other things as a 
pleasure, that there is no more ridiculous cant 
— cant is by no means peculiar to religion — in 
the wide world, than the pretty popular trash 
about unsophisticated nature. A poet was once 
disenchanted by seeing a ' great fat Circassian 
girl,' sitting on i one of her heels,' ( devouring a 
pie ; ' and I dare say, the l saucer-eyed ' beauty 
had never performed a more intellectual, or 
indeed a more sentimental act in her life. I 
could certainly produce, from among my Bur- 
mese neighbors, a better subject for genius to 
waste itself upon, than the feather-girdled 
nymph of the woods, that a year or two since 



116 HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 

figured in a fashionable magazine, in the atti- 
tude of triumphing over a pair of sheepish look- 
ing missionaries ; but excuse me from vouching 
for the capabilities of my protegee beyond the 
rice and curry line, save on great occasions, 
when her intellect might actually soar to the 
height of silks, face-powder — not soap — neck- 
laces, and bangles. A sensible Burmese woman 
— one of our victims — told me, not long since, 
that previously to being taught by the mis- 
sionaries, she knew as little of Boodhism as 
of Christianity. She supposed Gaudama was 
some old priest living somewhere on the hill, 
and thought it fine fun to turn out, with her 
young companions on worship days, to make 
offerings, and prostrate herself, in all her finery, 
before a pagoda ; but for what purpose she 
went, it never once occurred to her to inquire. 
She had not the most distant conception of a 
future state, and could not recollect that she 
had ever once thought of death in connection 
with herself. In short, this woman, who is now 
as familiar with the Word of God as any Sun- 
day scholar in America, was, at the age of 
twenty, but one remove above the brutes, i a 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 117 

mere brute,' she styles herself; and she adds, 
that she does not think herself at all inferior to 
uneducated Burmese girls in general. But she 
was very pure and lovely, in her charming igno- 
rance, was she not ? — a sort of dew-gem in the 
wilderness? I do not know much about her 
girlhood, but of one thing I am quite certain, 
that the less said about it the better ; for virtue 
is not forced upon Burmese women, as on those 
of some other eastern nations, by means of 
locks and bars, and mutilated guards. Since 
her marriage, it must be owned she has been 
quite a model woman, for this part of the world, 
having been found guilty of unfaithfulness in 
that relation but once ; and then being able to 
prove, in self-defence, that she was under the 
influence of arrack — the Burmese substitute for 
gin. Do I write with such plainness as to shock 
the sensibilities of my readers ? I do it unwil- 
lingly ; and I assure them that I have dared to 
lift only the tiniest corner of the veil. But the 
wants and woes of the heathen must be more 
fully understood, before their condition can be 
materially improved. My happy, lovely sisters 
across the waters must know for whom they 



118 HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 

pray, and in whose behalf they make those sacri- 
fices of personal elegancies, which will brighten 
their crowns in heaven. Not for some witching, 
fairy-like creature, who is robbed of half her 
charms by becoming a tame, simple-minded dis- 
ciple of Christ ; but for a degraded being, whose 
ignorance is surpassed only by her depravity, 
and whose personal habits would almost qualify 
her to furnish certain theorizing naturalists with 
the long desired link between man and his chat- 
tering caricature of the jungle. 

c A law unto themselves,' argues our moralist, 
quoting the words of the first missionary, who 
left his own needy countrymen for the heathen ; 
a rare auxiliary, by the way, in the good cause 
of showing up missionaries ! i A law unto them- 
selves,' — and, secure in the strength of his sup- 
posed ally, he unhesitatingly seats himself in the 
commentator's chair. * Throughout the whole 
chapter,' verses twelfth and sixteenth, for in- 
stance ! — i clearly shows, that if the Gentiles,' 
— ah ! but that little if! it has ruined many a 
magnificent theory. Verily, expertness at con- 
cocting moral tales is not the best preparation 
in the world for a theologian. Another man, 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 119 

now, would have supposed that Paul's argu- 
ments c clearly show ' quite a different thing, or 
would, at least, have allowed him to be his 
own expositor. In the next chapter, the Gentile 
apostle, like the skilful reasoner that he was, 
gathers up his arguments in one hand, and 
while preparing to reach forth 'the law of faith' 
with the other, declares, i We have before prov- 
ed, both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all 
under sin.' All under sin ! Ah, this is the 
unwelcome truth wrapped up in that mischiev- 
ous, stubborn little if, which would maintain its 
ground, though tolerably well disguised by false 
logic. So the Gentiles do not keep the 'law 
written on their hearts,' and they do need a 
gospel, after all. What ! all of them ? Cannot 
a single individual be found, who never violates 
the law of conscience ? There are wonderful 
stories told of Socrates, — so wonderful, indeed, 
that many have believed his philosophy based 
on the revelation originally made to the He- 
brews ; while others are disposed to look with 
incredulity on perfections so enveloped in the 
haze of antiquity. Be that as it may, when a 
modern missionary finds the unique specimen 



120 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 



of a Gentile, who i does right, according to the 
law written on his heart,' the public will most 
certainly be made acquainted with the circum- 
stance ; for, indeed, such a miracle of a man 
would be a fortune to Mr. Bea-num. 

In sad and sober truth, the human being does 
not exist, who never transgresses both his own 
sense of right and the law of God. Every child 
of Adam has inherited a deadly poison, and he 
cherishes it because he loves it — delights in it — 
gloats over it. He knows, to a greater or less 
extent, that it is a vile thing, but he hogs it 
none the less closely for that; replying to all 
remonstrances, with the unanswerable argument 
of the New Zealand cannibal, when the mis- 
sionary endeavored to dissuade him from eating 
human flesh, ' Oh, but it is so sweet ! ' An 
antidote to this fearful poison has been pro- 
vided ; it is within the reach of every soul in 
Christendom, and if he will not accept it, < His 
blood be upon his own head,' not on that of 
the missionary who goes to the helpless, hope- 
less heathen. If a stubborn sick man refuse 
the draught that would restore him to health, 
shall all the doctors congregate about his bed, 



HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 



121 



and leave a whole town to perish, for lack of 
the same specific ? Oh, no, no ; let bright, 
beautiful New York, sin-tarnished though she 
certainly is, pour forth her missionaries in 
crowds, and let all her fair sisters of the New 
World join in the noble enterprise. They will 
find that ' giving doth not impoverish ; ' but 
that he, who goes from among them in the 
faith of Christ, will leave a spirit behind him, 
which his personal presence could never have 
inspired. Let the daughter of luxury, in her 
home of refinement and purity, pause, and give 
a single moment to serious reflection. It would 
certainly be sweet to live there, and tread her 
rosy path daintily ; but it would be glorious — 
oh, so glorious ! to die, — for die she must even 
in her own bright home of love and beauty, — 
with the prayers and blessings of those she has 
rescued from the lowest depths of degradation, 
to precede her up to the throne of God. Let 
the young man, as he turns his back upon his 
alma mater, and contemplates taking his stand 
in a world of action, remember that he chooses 
not merely for time, but for eternity ; and that 
results of incalculable magnitude are hanging 



122 HEATHEN BETTER THAN CHRISTIANS. 

on his decision. Let him remember that heaven 
sent forth the first Missionary — the Son of 
God — and he will not hesitate to think deeply, 
and pray fervently, over a profession which had 
such a glorious Founder. To what higher honor 
can a poor mortal aspire, thaia to be thus di- 
rectly a co-worker with the Prince of glory? 
And is it not ennobling to the soul to be en- 
gaged, with a certainty of ultimate success, in 
the elevation of mighty nations? Is it not a 
sublime deed to reach forth the hand to a fallen 
spirit, and lift it to its place among the stars ? 
Oh, the missionary enterprise ! Its grandeur, its 
glory, is not yet half appreciated, even by its 
most enthusiastic advocates ; for it is a theme 
that will tax the expanded intellects of the re- 
deemed throughout the never-ending ages of 
eternity. 



MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN, 

< Do you think it will do for to carry a 

silk umbrella in America ? ' 

'Do! why?' 

The sweet blue eyes, which had been lifted 
to mine in asking the first question, assumed 
a grave earnestness, as my gentle friend con- 
tinued, i I mean, will people make unpleasant 
remarks about it ? Won't they think it not 
quite the thing for missionaries ? ' 

I glanced at the poor, ricketty, carefully 
mended article in question, and answered truly, 
that I did not think it would be likely to create 
a very powerful sensation in America. 

* Ah,' said my questioner, laughing, ' I see 
you don't understand these things. Now I 
would give a dozen umbrellas like this, for one 
good cotton one — of course I would. And yet 



124 MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 

I have known missionaries to be censured for 
quite as innocent pieces of extravagance, (or 
economy,) as using this poor specimen of my 
handiwork, that you seem so inclined to ridi- 
cule.' 

' And what if they are censured ?' 

4 You remember what Paul says, " If meat 
cause my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh 
while the world standeth." ' 

'Ah, but ' I spare the reader an expo- 
sition of Scripture, which might not tend to 
edification, and which was interrupted by the 
entrance of a third person. 

i I am so glad you have come,' said my blue- 
eyed friend. ' Now don't you think this nice 
silk umbrella — see how carefully I have mend- 
ed it — is quite as good as Mrs. 's gold 

watch?' 

The two ladies laughed a short, curious, 
apologetic sort of a laugh, which had more of 
regret and pain, than mirth in it, but which 
served as an introduction to the story of the 
gold watch. 

Mr. had been many years married, and 

had lived in tolerably easy circumstances, when 



MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 125 

he was converted, and received an appointment 
as a missionary to the heathen. Perhaps he 
thought Paul's prohibition of gold did not ex- 
tend to anything so useful as a watch, or 
possibly he might have fancied that it had a 
strictly feminine application, or (what is most 
probable) he thought nothing at all about it ; 
but certain it is that he carried his gold watch, 
now somewhat advanced in years, across the 
waters with him. In taking possession of the 
premises of a brother missionary about return- 
ing to America, the watch, as a matter of mutual 
accommodation, was exchanged for a clock, and 
so found its way again to its native shores. 
And now I must frankly acknowledge that my 
memory is at fault, as to precisely where the 
watch was lost, a circumstance which on the 
whole I do not regret, as it preserves me from 
a feeling of being on the road to personalities 
in making this little record. But the watch 
was lost by the missionary's wife, on her way 
to a female missionary meeting ; and one of the 
ladies of the meeting kindly went in search of 
it. Being unsuccessful, she procured through a 
friend an advertisement to be inserted in a 



126 MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 

newspaper. And so it became known to the 
world, or to a certain portion of it, that ' a 
missionary' had lost a fi valuable gold watch.' 
And then my two friends, with a profusion of 
sorrowful smiles and sympathetic blushes, called 
on me to imagine the excitement in that little 
community ! how every man, woman and child, 
not the actual proprietor of a gold watch (and 
some that were) declared that if it had come to 
this, if missionaries could afford such extrava- 
gances, they might get their money for the 
heathen as they could; they would never con- 
tribute a cent — not they, indeed ! 

' And how did it all end ? ' I inquired. 

c Oh, it did n't end — such things never do. 
They go on increasing and doing mischief to 
the end of the chapter.' 

< So you see,' said Blue-eyes, ' we cannot be 
too careful.' 

< I see.' My answer was mechanical ; for 
my thoughts were not there. They were busy 
recalling the image of a poor woman I once 
knew, who, while bearing the burden and heat 
of the day in the support of her family, was 
obliged to take especial care, lest, by some word 



MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 127 

or look, she should displease her husband ; and 
so deprive herself of the occasional assistance 
he condescended to render. I, however, saw 
in a moment the infelicity of my comparison, 
for this man was a drunkard, not a professed 
child of God. 

' We cannot be too careful,' repeated my 
gentle friend. 

' Oh no.' I did not well know what to say, 
and I did not dare trust myself to look at her. 
Here was a tender young mother, bearing a 
heavier sorrow than those of my readers who 
have only laid their children beneath the sod 
know anything of; and in the midst of it all, 
troubling her meek thoughts about an old 
umbrella, lest she might inadvertently displease 
the men and women, who never in their lives 
made a real sacrifice for Christ. Not that she 
cared to please for her own sake — the very 
flush on her cheek told that — but from love to 
her Master she could submit to anything. And 
then my thoughts wandered off to snug, cozy 
homes, where dutiful children might gather, 
and even the troubles were of a comfortable, 
easy sort of character, rendering life more 



128 MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 

agreeable by occasional up-hill passages. And 
I saw in my musing (I could not help it) some 
of the occupants of these enviable homes, carp- 
ing at the length of Peter's beard, or the fashion 
of John's mantle, while the Saviour of the 
world walked in all his majesty, unweleomed, 
and scarcely recognised. 

£ It won't do ! ' at length I broke forth, more 
peremptorily than I had intended. 

' You think it won't,' was the answer in a 
tone so resigned as to be positively touching. 

< Oh, the old umbrella! I didn't mean that. 
It won't do for poor missionaries to trammel 
themselves with all these knotty consciences. 
You know " John came neither eating nor 
drinking, and they said he had a devil ; the 
Son of Man came eating and drinking, and 
they said, Behold a gluttonous man, a wine- 
bibber," &c. I fancy the old generation is not 
quite extinct.' 

< Oh, those were the unbelieving Jews — 
these are Christians.' 

' You think so — well! ' For a few days my 
thoughts were busy with those Christians, who 
< bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne ' 



MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 129 

upon the shoulders of their brethren, and < will 
not themselves so much as touch the burdens 
with one of their fingers.' But gradually the 
subject occupied less space in my mind, and 
finally came to be regarded as one of those 
phantoms which occasionally visit us during our 
daylight musings, as well as sleeping dreams. 
This state of confidence, however, was destined 
to be disturbed. 

c And what do you think of my dress ? ' asked 
a returned missionary, at the close of a conver- 
sation in which she had been detailing certain 
plans of self-devotement to a friend. < Pray do 
not look so surprised at my question, or I shall 
be quite ashamed. You must be aware that 
such things have more weight than they ought ; 
and I should not wish my influence injured by 
anything so trivial.' 

1 You need not fear that ; yours is just that 
happy style of dress which nobody ever sees. 
Now I take a second look, it is of fine material, 
but there is nothing showy about it ; and as to 
fashion, it is neither quite new, nor so old as 
to attract attention by its oddity. A very fair 
9 



130 MINT, ANISE AND CtHMMIN. 

specimen of the wearer's good sense and good 
taste both, it strikes me.' 

'Indeed the wearer deserves no such com- 
pliment. I was quite shivering in New York, 

when Mrs. was so very kind as to present 

me with her last year's bonnet and mantle* 
They are, of course, nicer than I should have 
bought, but they are very comfortable ; and I 
did not feel at liberty to refuse the gift, unless, 
indeed, I should do harm by wearing it. I 
should rather go back to my thin old shawl and 
straw bonnet, than have my nice, comfortable 
clothing stand in the way of my doing good.' 

' I do not doubt that; but you need have no 
fears.' 

Unfortunately this well-meaning friend was 
mistaken. The missionary went from place to 
place, pressing her cause, with an eloquent ear- 
nestness, which belongs to the deep, unselfish 
heart of a truly devoted woman ; and while 
many listened prayerfully and contributed libe- 
rally, others (not mockers, not giddy women of 
the world, not declared enemies of the cause of 
missions) sat taking an inventory of her dress, 
estimating how many yards of cloth were in 



MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 131 

her mantle, and, in the course of their exami- 
nations, arriving at the astounding conclusion, 
that it was composed of as fine — possibly finer 
material than their own. 

Out upon the woman ! Did she presume to 
come, in all her finery, begging of them ! They 
always had a good many doubts about this 
missionary business, but this — this was a little 
too much ! And so these people kept back the 
accustomed sixpence — very likely to increase 
the fineness of their own mantles another win- 
ter. Perhaps not, though. Perhaps they would 
not wear a fine mantle, if it were given them. 
Perhaps they are very exact (as they ought to 
be) about the tithe of mint, anise and cummin ; 
dressing in chintz, and eschewing ribands, alto- 
gether. And so they save their money — for 
what? To 'pull down their barns and build 
greater ? ' To add that long coveted lot to the 
farm ? To provide for the possible wants of 
children, who have strong hands and able 
heads ? 

I will not ask for what; no matter what, if 
they ' neglect the weightier matters of the law.' 

Now I am no defender of gold watches, or 



132 MINT, ANISE AND CUMMIN. 

silk umbrellas. I have no desire to varnish 
over the faults or follies of any missionary ; 
but wo to that man who shall make the delin- 
quencies of his brother-servant an excuse for 
disobeying the Master ! "Wo to that disciple of 
the Lord Jesus Christ, who, under any pretext 
whatever, refuses to obey the last command of 
his risen Redeemer, to the very best of his 
ability! If he cannot himself 'go,' he must pro- 
cure a substitute, or assist in procuring one, at 
his peril. Assist, not meanly and parsimoni- 
ously, serving God, as somebody has it, by six- 
pences, but with a noble generosity, worthy 
of his character as a Christian, worthy of the 
wondrous commission with which he has been 
honored, worthy of the glorious cause of his 
all-glorious King. 



THE MISSIONARY. 

One blossom in his path uncloses. 

His prayers its sun, his tears its rain, 
A flower Eve found not with the roses 

Of her bright silver-fringed domain. 
One joy beneath his foot upsprings, 
Extracted from the serpent's stings : — 
As the soiled wing, enchained to earth, 

Its thraldom bursts, and soaring, flies, 
So wakes the soul to its new birth, 

And bounds, exulting, to the skies. 
To loose the prisoned flutterer's wing, 
Touch the degraded spirit's spring, 
To give a songster to the sky, 
A voice to swell the choir on high, — 
Oh, if there be for man a bli'ss, 
Above what angels feel, 'tis this! 



BODAIT-PARAH. 

Persons in the least familiar with Burmese 
history must have heard of the already half- 
fabulous feats of that mighty conqueror and 
deliverer, the justly famed Alompra.* They 
will have heard of his bold and successful ven- 
ture to obtain freedom from Peguan bondage ; 
of his bravery in battle, of his wisdom in coun- 
cil, and how, through him, the proud Burmans 
took for a time their former rank among the 
great nations of the East. The Burmans de- 
termined utterly to crush the nation that had 
dared to make them slaves ; and accordingly, 
the whole Peguan dynasty, every person sus- 
pected of having a drop of royal blood in his 

* English corruption of Aloung-parah, — a name given after 
death, in allusion to the body's having lain in regal state in 
the Martaban valley. 



BODAU-PARAH. 135 

veins, embracing the flower of the nobility, 
suffered death by starvation, by strangling, or 
by the more honored medium of the river and 
the crimson sack. The imperial crown, of 
course, fell upon the brow of the nation's de- 
liverer ; and, half-deified as he was, his laws 
must needs be sacred for centuries to come. 
Among other regulations, of more or less wis- 
dom and importance, he established a new 
order of succession to the throne. Being the 
eldest of several brothers, he ordained that his 
crown should descend through each of the 
surviving brothers successively to his own 
eldest son ; and then again through a family of 
brothers, back to the eldest son of the eldest. 
Alompra no doubt intended to make a wise 
and politic arrangement, which should insure 
to the throne men of mature judgment, and 
prevent the horrors of a regency in such a 
country. But his plan was a total failure. 
Through the agency of ambitious brothers, and 
elder sons impatient of delay, it has occasioned 
so much bloodshed and confusion, that it may 
justly be considered one of the principal causes 



136 BODAU-PARAH, 

of the rapid deterioration so evident in the 
national character of the Burmese. 

The youngest son of Alompra survived not 
only his uncles and brothers, but his own chil- 
dren, leaving the throne to a favorite grandson. 
For this cause he is always spoken of as Bodau- 
parah, or the royal grandfather. This man 
possessed, with a thoughtful, and somewhat 
philosophic turn of mind, great strength of will, 
pride, sternness, and a lofty self-reliance, which 
his ruggedness and force of character redeemed 
from the ridiculous vanity of his successor of 
' golden fetter ' memory, and even elevated into 
something like sublimity. His name is now 
most reverently cherished throughout Burmah, 
as the embodiment of all that is daring and 
noble ; and the taint of religious heresy, which 
at one time threatened the ruin of his character, 
is resolutely denied or forgotten. If a stranger 
should wish to awaken a glow of patriotism in 
a Burman, that would beautify his plain but in- 
tellectual face, (taking care that he be not of 
Peguan origin,) he has only to call up some 
grateful reminiscence of Bodau-parah. 

The following incident relative to an attempt 



BODAU-PARAH. 137 

on the part of the English, to establish a com- 
mercial treaty between the two countries during 
the reign of Bodau, was related to me by my 
fine-spirited old teacher, a pure Burman, who 
had worn the yellow robe at Ava, and who, 
although an exile for his religion, still kept a 
feeling of loyalty at his heart, fed by all the 
proud fire of his race. 

THE KING AND THE ENVOY. 

Proud the monarch in his palace, 

In his golden palace sat, 
Girt as with the borealis, 

Sandalled foot on jewelled mat. 
Slaves to him and his opinions. 

Swart old courtiers round him knelt ; 
And throughout his broad dominions, 

Even his slightest nod was felt. 

Now there bowed a courtly stranger, 

Fair of face and smooth of speech ; — 
i If — oh, glorious king, if danger 

To the golden foot should reach, 
Owns thy brother power unbounded ; 

On the winds his tall ships fly ; 
Where his thunders have resounded, 

Foes like jungle-blossoms lie. 



138 BODAU-PARAH. 

Then the old king slowly baring 

One dark, brawny, sinewy arm ; 
As a gladiator daring 

Man and beast to work him arm ; 
Stretched it to the wondering Briton, 

Stretched it with a scornful laugh, — 
' Kyee-san, nen* should foes dare threaten, 

Burmah needs no foreign staff! ' 

Wild eyes gleamed, proud words were uttered, 

Bearded lips with smiles were gay ; 
Low the baffled stranger muttered, 

As he turned and strode away : 
Like the gull, her white wings spreading, 

Seaward wheeled his barque once more ; 
Eestless feet her fair decks treading, 

Dark eyes laughing from the shore. 

But there is another anecdote of Bodau- 
parah, which, though no less truthful or inter- 
esting than the above, it is a scandal to repeat 
in Burmah. 

For a period of more than two thousand years 
Boodhism had prevailed uninterrupedly. Intro- 
duced right royally, and through a royal medium 

* Look [at this] — you ! 



BODAU-PARAH. 139 

from India, the work of propagation among the 
common people had been followed up by mis- 
sionaries from Ceylon, till probably no national 
religion under the sun ever so claimed the 
undivided affections and convictions of an 
entire nation. Supported on the one hand by 
the absolute authority of an uncompromising 
monarchy, and on the other by the powerful 
influence of a priesthood, whose roots extended 
into every family of respectability, drawing no 
stinted nourishment from family pride ; a struc- 
ture really admirable in itself, still stood forth 
without a fracture, and with only a slight 
mantling of moss and mildew to mar its 
beauty. While this comparatively pure and 
elevated faith had been supplanted in its origi- 
nal dominions by the disgusting doctrines and 
horrible practices of the Brahminists, while in 
China it held a divided sovereignty, in Thibet 
had become so changed in character as to be 
scarcely recognisable, and even in its old Cing- 
halese home had deteriorated almost to a level 
with surrounding idolatries, in Burmah it had 
only swerved a little from its original simplicity, 
and gathered a few premonitory stains. True, 



140 BODAU-PARAH. 

the priests did not obey, in spirit, the command 
of Gaudama, to go clothed in rags, but their 
rich silken robes were sewed together from such 
nominal fragments as would bring them within 
the letter of the law ; and though they adhered 
to the original rule of owning no property, and 
striving for no political power, they ruled with 
absolute sway over commoners and nobility, 
and rich communities of leprous beggars were 
their obsequious bankers. In one thing they 
had gone counter to the commands of Gau- 
dama. They had been forbidden to inhabit 
monasteries within the limits of the town, an 
injunction which had been from time imme- 
morial practically forgotten. But the worst 
blot upon the Boodhistic religion, the most 
destructive of its purity, and the most degrad- 
ing in its influence on the character of the 
people was ridt, or spirit-worship. Little altars 
to both good and evil spirits were often erected 
at the very doors of the Kyoungs ; and the 
younger priests not infrequently shared their 
quota of rice with these invisible visitors, while 
the older ones winked at the folly. To a still 



BODAU-PARAH. 141 

more alarming extent was this demoralizing 
practice carried on among the people. 

The great distinctive feature of Boodhism is 
its proclaiming one god, who alone (through 
images of himself, pagodas erected over his 
relics, and the priests who devote themselves 
to his honor) is the suitable object of worship. 
A belief in a plurality of gods always has the 
effect of degrading a people — a truth trite 
enough in our ears, but one which the thought- 
ful Bodau-parah had occupied years in arriving 
at. In fact, the stern king had had too long a 
term of peace for the good of old institutions ; 
and during this term of peace, he had thought, 
and observed, and delved in old Pali books, till 
he became more learned in both the philosophy 
and mythology of Boodhism, than even the 
priests themselves. He had compared and 
pondered, till his shrewd mind had arrived 
at many startling conclusions ; and, bold man 
as he was, he expressed his opinions so freely, 
that his most politic nobles trembled for what 
they well knew to be the glory of the nation ; 
his more reckless courtiers grew openly and 
gayly irreligious; while troubled priests, in the 



142 



BODAU-PARAH. 



recesses of their monasteries, laid a finger on 
their lips significantly, and sighed, rather than 
whispered, 'paramat.'* In the meantime the 
governors of different provinces seemed aware 
that the most effectual mode of courting royal 
favor was to hold the reins of religious intoler- 
ance slackly ; and latitudinous opinions, and 
freedom of inquiry spread throughout the em- 
pire with wonderful rapidity. In this newly 
opened nursery of thought, sprang up innu- 
merable sects, or schools of philosophy. There 
were men who denied the existence of matter; 
men who insisted that matter was only a de- 
velopment of mind ; and those who maintained, 
with innumerable shades of difference, directly 
the reverse of this proposition. There were 
deists of a dozen different schools; and tran- 
scendentalists, who ventured farther into the 
realms of mysticism, than the more practical 
occidental mind would dare, or has the spiritual 
capacity to go. Among these free-thinking phi- 
losophers was a noble old patriarch living at 
Prome, who, according to all accounts, must 
have been a modern Socrates, and who, in the 

* Infidel. 



BODAU-PARAH. 143 

reign of the Grandson, became a still closer imi- 
tator of the ancient sage, by sacrificing his life 
to his faith. Another was Moung Shwayngong, 
a man of commanding personal presence, and 
exalted character, who, with several of his dis- 
ciples, afterwards embraced Christianity, and 
contributed to give a cast of uncommon intellec- 
tuality to the first Christian Church in Burmah. 
One of his followers, (probably the only survivor) 
an old lady now living in Maulmain, invariably 
attracts the attention of strangers, by her singu- 
lar refinement and elegance of manner, her 
genera] intelligence, and her genuine Christian 
graces. And yet she is said to have been, at 
the time of her conversion, far from a brilliant 
specimen of the intellectual coterie to which 
she belonged. 

At length Bodau-parah, having very uninten- 
tionally thrown open the flood-gates of thought 
throughout his realm, took the alarm. He never 
had the least intention of allowing such latitude 
of opinion to common minds ; and he devoted 
himself with characteristic energy to finding a 
remedy. There were men of almost all nations 
assembled at Ava, and he resolved to have, 



144 BODAU-PARAH. 

through their aid, an examination of the differ- 
ent religions, in order that Burmah might adopt 
the wisest code. Royal councillors and aristo- 
cratic priests trembled ; but they dared not 
manifest their uneasiness by a murmur. The 
haughty king asked no adviser, and he constitu- 
ted himself sole judge. The day was appointed ; 
the various representatives came together ; the 
royal secretaries sat down with their black 
books spread before them ; and the king con- 
ducted the examination in person, and some- 
times, in his earnestness, without the formality 
of an interpreter. There was the wily Brahmin, 
telling on his rosary the names of his multitude 
of uncouth divinities ; the exiled Parsee, with 
his finely cut features, and deep, melancholy 
eyes, in which slumbered a fire as fervid as that 
he worshipped; the bearded Moslem, who hid 
the Son of God behind the shadow of his 
mighty human Prophet ; and the Armenian and 
Romanist, who also hid from the poor heathen 
king, the Saviour of the world, but, for the 
conquering Prophet, substituted a woman. 

And were these all? Were Armenian mer- 
chants and Portuguese Padres the only repre- 



BODAU-PARAII. 145 

sentatives of the Christian religion in Burmah ? 
Oh, 'how unsearchable are His judgments, and 
His ways past finding out?' Not far from the 
mouth of that same Irrawaddy, whose crystal 
tide swept down the white sands of the golden 
city, sat the first American missionary, pointing 
dumbly to the different objects in his room, and 
writing down their names as indicated in the 
strange accents of the teacher by his side. 
And while, with his heroic wife, his longing 
heart often turned toward the place, where, 
years afterward, one received 'in his body the 
marks of the Lord Jesus' to wear till death, 
and the other gathered up the seeds of martyr- 
dom ; it was well for their peace, for their faith, 
perhaps, that they could not divine the scene 
passing there at that moment. It would have 
appeared to them a golden opportunity lost 
forever. 

But there was one man at Ava calling him- 
self a Protestant. A large framed man, with 
coarse, strongly marked features, and ruddy 
complexion, though wearing the Burman dress, 
answered to an English name. It was reported 
that for some crime, which rumor variously 
10 



146 



BODAU-PARAH. 



represented, though she never wiped it from 
blood-guiltiness, this man had escaped from 
the English navy, and taken shelter under a 
heathen government, adopting with the dress, 
the manners, customs, and, as far as in his 
power, the character of the people. He had not 
troubled himself about religion, and in a time 
of such general laxness of opinion, he had not 
of course been troubled. This man, with 
probably some effort to recall his mother's 
teachings, and now and then prompted by the 
Spanish merchant at his side to whom we are 
indebted for the story, at last succeeded in re- 
peating the ten commandments ! And that 
was all. The representatives of the different 
religions left the royal presence ; and not the 
faintest whisper of the gospel of Christ had 
fallen on the ear of the inquiring monarch. 

The king hastily retired to the inner palace 
alone ; while ministers of state, and gallant 
court favorites, gathered here and there in little 
knots, to discuss the wonders of the day. Sub- 
tle metaphysicians enlarged upon the spiritual 
doctrines of the Parsee; gay, showy young men 
compared sneeringly the pomp of any Moorman 



BODAU-PARAH. 



147 



festival, with the gorgeous splendors of a Bood- 
histic cremation of priests ; the court wit per- 
petrated an epigram on woman-worship ; while 
sober politicians attempted to weigh the effect 
of the whole proceeding upon the prosperity of 
the country. It was evident to all that the mon- 
arch was disappointed, chagrined; but none but 
the Almighty saw, or could guess, the workings 
of his dark, though powerful mind. At length, 
after three days, he came forth in great state, 
and proclaimed the Boodhistic faith to be the 
most elevated, the purest in the world, and the 
only one worthy the attention of Burmans. 
The shouts that rose beyond the magic circle 
of the king's personal attendants were almost 
deafening; and scarcely a voice in the golden 
city but joined in the general cry, ascribing half 
the attributes of Deity to the mighty son of 
Alompra. But soon the cry died away in con- 
sternation ; for the king had yet other commu- 
nications to make, and edicts to issue. As 
Boodhism was a pure religion, he determined 
it should be observed in its purity. All the ridt 
tables were ordered to be torn down ; and ridt 
offerings and ridt worship forbidden, on penalty of 



148 



BODAU-PARAH. 



imprisonment and final death. Kyoungs erected 
within the limits of the town were dismantled; 
and the priests stripped of their rich robes, and 
driven back to the wilderness. Then ensued a 
scene of confusion. Many priests, especially 
those of high family, resisted, and were thrown 
into prison. Many concealed their sacred gar- 
ments under the plaided cloth of a layman, 
wound a turban around their shaven crowns, 
and fled to Prome, to Rangoon, and even across 
a section of the bay to Martaban, Kyaikamee, 
or Bike, being everywhere protected by the 
trembling, sympathizing people. One of these 
fugitives actually obtained a shelter for the 
night, and a protection for his effects, in the 
house of the American missionary at Rangoon ; 
who heard of the persecution only as the cruel 
and causeless act of a despotic monarch, and 
never dreamed that it could be the work of a 
mind apparently ripe for the reception of the 
gospel. 

Gradually the king relaxed in the energy of 
his measures, and affairs began very slowly to 
resume their former position. But before much 
had been accomplished, he died, and left the 



BODAU-PARAH. 149 

throne to his grandson ; who promptly restored 
the old order of things, with no scruples respect- 
ing undue pomp and glitter. And the result, 
under him and his successors, is well known to 
the Christian world. 

I Oh, if you could only, only have been there !' 
was the exclamation of the listener to this tale. 
; Even a few words might have been sufficient.' 

The narrator answered with a quiet, but ex- 
pressive smile. 

c If you could only have known ! ' 

I I felt as you do when Lanciego first told me 
the circumstance, when we were chained to- 
gether in the death prison at Ava ; but God 
cares for the interests of his kingdom far better 
than the wisest and best of us know how to 
care. The religion of our Saviour, propagated 
by despotism, would be a curse, and not a 
blessing to a nation. And even the favoring 
smile of royalty is. a thing I have long since 
ceased to pray for. All we want of any govern- 
ment is bare toleration — that is, to be let alone. 
It is contrary to the very spirit of Christianity 
to begin with those in power, and work down- 
ward ; and when it does so begin, the vital 



150 



BODAU-PARAH. 



spark is sure to escape in the process. Christ, 
our pattern, began low. He did not turn away 
from Nicodemus, or the Roman centurion, or 
the nobleman ; but he made no special effort for 
the benefit of those classes, with the view of 
gaining, through them, greater influence over 
the lower orders. Missionaries, if they would 
be successful, must have more faith in God ; 
and work in his own appointed way, preaching 
the gospel to the poor. It is painful to think of 
the pitiable old king, groping so earnestly, in 
his darkness ; but the Saviour has the good of 
Burmah infinitely nearer his heart than we have, 
and He was watching when my poor " eyes 
were holden." I thank Him for His care ; and I 
stand ready to do His work, however lowly, and 
wait His time, however long. 5 



DEATH OF BOARDMAN. 

Pale with sickness, weak and worn, 

Is the Christian hero borne, 

Over hill, and brook, and fen, 

By his band of swart, wild men, 

Dainty odors floating back, 

From their blossom-crushing track. 

Through the jungle vast and dim, 
Swells out Nature's matin hymn : 
Bulbuls 'mid the berries red, 
Showers of mellow music shed ; 
Thrushes 'neath their crimson hoods, 
Chant their loves along the woods ; 

And the heron, as he springs 
Up, with startled rush of wings, 



152 DEATH OF BOARDMAN. 

Joins the gorgeous peacock's scream ; 
While the gushing of the stream 
Gives sweet cadence to the hymn, 
Swelling through the jungle dim. 

So they bear him on his way, 
Till the sunless sky is gray ; 
Then within some lone zayat, 
Gentle fingers spread the mat ; 
And a watcher, sad and wan, 
Bends above him till the dawn. 

Up and on ! The tangled brake 
Hides the deadly water-snake ; 
And the tiger, from his lair 
Half up-springing, snuffs the air, 
Doubtful gazing where they pass, 
Trailing through the long wet grass. 

Day has faded, — rosy dawn 
Blushed again o'er wood and lawn ; 
Day has deepened, — level beams 
Light the brook in changeful gleams, 
Breaking in a golden flood, 
Round strange groupings in the wood. 



DEATH OF BOARDMAN. 153 

There, where mountains wild and high, 
Range their peaks along the sky, 
Lo ! they pause. A crimson glow 
Burns upon that cheek of snow ; 
And within the eyes' soft blue 
Quiver tears like drops of dew. 

Upward, from the wooded dell, 
High the joyous greetings swell, 
Peal on peal ; then, circling round, 
Turbaned heads salute the ground, 
"While upon ttie dewy air 
Floats a faint, soft voice in prayer. 

With the fever on his cheek, 
Breathing forth his teachings meek, 
Long the gospel-bearer lies, 
Till the stars have climbed the skies, 
And the young moon's slender rim 
Hides behind the mountain grim. 

'Twas for this sweet boon he came, 
Crushing back Death's eager claim ; 
Yet a few more lambs to fold, 
Ere he mingles w r ith the mould, — 



154 DEATH OF BOARDMAN. 

Lambs with torn and crimsoned fleece, 
Wildered in this wilderness. 

Once again the golden day 
Drops her veil of silver gray ; 
And that dark-eyed mountain band 
Print with bare, brown feet the sand, 
Or the crystal wave turn back, 
Rippling from their watery track. 

Meekly down the river's bed, 
Sire and son alike are led, 
Parting the baptismal flood, 
As of old in Judah's wood ; 
"While throughout the sylvan glen 
Rings the stern, deep-voiced Amen. 

With the love-light in his eyes, 
Mute the dying teacher lies. 
It is finished. Bear him back ! 
Haste along the jungle track! 
See the lid uplifting now, — 
See the glory on his brow. 

It is finished. Wood and glen 
Sigh their mournful, meek Amen. 



DEATH OF BOARDMAN. 155 

'Mid that circle, sorrow-spanned, 
Clasping close an icy hand, 
Lo ! the midnight watcher wan, 
Waiting yet another dawn. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

The sunlight fell aslant upon the fragile 
frame-work of a Burman zayat; but though it 
was some hours past mid-day, the burning rays 
were not yet level enough to look too intru- 
sively beneath the low, projecting eaves. Yet 
the day was intensely hot, and the wearied 
occupant of the one bamboo chair in the centre 
of the building, looked haggard and care-worn. 
All day long had he sat in that position, re- 
peating over and over again, as he could find 
listeners, such simple truths as mothers are 
accustomed to teach the infant on their knee; 
and now his head was aching, and his heart 
was very heavy. He had met some scoffers, 
some who seemed utterly indifferent, but not 
one sincere inquirer after truth. 

In the middle of the day, when the sun was 
hottest, and scarcely a European throughout all 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 157 

India was astir, he had received the greatest 
number of visitors ; for the passers-by were glad 
of a moment's rest and shelter from the sun. 
The mats were still spread invitingly upon the 
floor; but though persons of almost every de- 
scription were continually passing and repassing, 
they seemed each intent on his own business, 
and the missionary was without a listener. He 
thought of his neglected study-table at home, 
of his patient, fragile wife, toiling through the 
numerous cares of the day alone, of the letters 
his friends were expecting, and which he had 
no time to write, of the last periodicals from his 
dear native land, lying still unread ; and every 
little while, between the other thoughts, came 
real pinings after a delicious little book of 
devotion, which he had slid into his pocket in 
the morning, promising it his first moment of 
leisure. Then he was, naturally, an active man, 
of quick, ardent temperament, and with such 
views of the worth of time as earnest American 
men can scarcely fail to gain ; and it went to 
his heart to lose so many precious moments. 
If he could only do something to fill up these 
tedious intervals ! But no ; this was a work 



158 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

to which he must not give a divided mind. 
He was renewing a half-tested experiment in 
wayside preaching, and he would not suffer his 
attention to be distracted by anything else. 
While his face was hidden by his book, and his 
mind intent on self-improvement, some poor 
passer-by might lose a last, an only opportunity 
of hearing the words of life. To be sure, his 
own soul seemed very barren, and needed re- 
freshing; and his body was weary — wearied 
well nigh to fainting, more with the dull, palsy- 
ing inanity of the day's fruitless endeavors, than 
with anything like labor. Heavily beat down 
the hot sun, lighting up the amber-like brown 
of the thatch, as with a burning coal; while 
thickly in its broad rays floated a heavy golden 
cloud of dust and motes, showing in what a 
wretched atmosphere the delicate lungs were 
called to labor. Meantime, a fever-freighted 
breeze, which had been, all the hot day, sweep- 
ing the effluvia from eastern marshes, stirred 
the glossy leaves of the orange-tree across the 
way, and parched the lip, and kindled a crimson 
spot upon the wan cheek of the weary mission- 
ary. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 159 

' God reigns,' he repeated, as though some 
reminder of the sort were necessary. < God 
Almighty reigns ; and I have given myself to 
him, soul and body, for time and for eternity. 
His will be done!' Still, how long the day 
seemed! How broad the space that blistering 
sun had yet to travel, before its waiting, its 
watching, and its laboring would be ended! 
Might he not indulge himself just one moment ? 
His hand went to his pocket, and the edge of a 
little book peeped forth a moment, and then, 
with a decided push, was thrust back again. 
No ; he would not trifle with his duty. He 
would be sternly, rigidly faithful ; and the bless- 
ing would surely come in time. Yet it was 
with an irrepressible yawn that he took up a 
little Burman tract prepared by himself, of 
which every word was as familiar as his own 
name, and commenced reading aloud. The 
sounds caught the ear of a coarsely clad water- 
bearer, and she lowered the vessel from her 
head, and seated herself afar off, just within the 
shadow of the low eaves. Attracted by the 
foreign accent of the reader, few passed without 
turning the head a few moments to listen ; then 



160 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

catching at some word which seemed to them 
offensive, they would repeat it mockingly and 
hasten on. 

Finally the old water-bearer, grinning in 
angry derision till her wrinkled visage became 
positively hideous, rose, slowly adjusted the 
earthen vessel on her head, and passed along, 
muttering as she went, i Jesus Christ ! — no 
Nigban! — ha, ha, ha!' The heart of the mis- 
sionary sunk within him, and he was on the 
point of laying down the book. But the shadow 
of another passer-by fell upon the path, and he 
continued a moment longer. It was a tall, 
dignified looking man, leading by the hand a 
boy, the open mirthfulness of whose bright, 
button-like eyes was in perfect keeping with 
his dancing little feet. The stranger was of a 
grave, staid demeanor, with a turban of aristo- 
cratic smallness, sandals turning up at the toe, 
a silken robe of somewhat subdued colors, and 
a snow-white tunic of gentlemanlike length, 
and unusual fineness. 

' Papa, papa ! ' said the boy, with a merry 
little skip, and twitching at the hand he was 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 161 

holding, ' Look, look, papa! there is Jesus 
Christ's man. Amail how shockingly white!' 

'Jesus Christ's man' raised his eyes from the 
book which he could read just as well without 
eyes, and bestowed one of his brightest smiles 
upon the little stranger, just as the couple were 
passing beyond the corner of the zayat, but not 
too late to catch a bashfully pleased recognition. 
The father did not speak nor turn his head, but 
a ray of sunshine went down into the mission- 
ary's heart from those happy little eyes ; and he 
somehow felt that his hour's reading had not 
been thrown away. He had remarked this man 
before, in other parts of the town ; and had 
striven in various ways to attract his attention, 
but without success. He was evidently known, 
and most probably avoided ; but the child, with 
that shy, pleased, half-confiding, roguish sort of 
smile, seemed sent as an encouraging messen- 
ger. The missionary continued his reading with 
an increase of earnestness and emphasis. A 
priest wrapped his yellow robes about him and 
sat down upon the steps, as though for a mo- 
ment's rest. Then, another stranger came up 
boldly, and with considerable ostentation seated 
11 



162 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

himself on the mat. He proved to be a philos- 
opher, from the school then recently disbanded 
at Prorne ; and he soon drew on a brisk, ani- 
mated controversy. 

The missionary did not finish his day's work 
with the shutting up of the zayat. At night, 
in his closet, he remembered both philosopher 
and priest ; pleaded long and earnestly for the 
scoffing old water-bearer ; and felt a warm tear 
stealing to his eye, as he presented the case of 
the tall stranger, and the laughing, dancing ray 
of sunshine at his side. 

Day after day went by, as oppressively hot, 
as dusty, and bringing as many feverish winds 
as ever; but the hours were less wearisome* 
because many little buds of hope had been 
fashioned, which might yet expand into perfect 
flowers. But every day the tall stranger carried 
the same imperturbable face past the zayat; 
and every day the child made some silent ad- 
vance towards the friendship of the missionary, 
bending his half-shaven head, and raising his 
little nut-colored hand to his forehead, by way 
of salutation, and smiling till his round face 
dimpled all over like ripples in a sunny pool. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



163 



One day, as the pair came in sight, the mis- 
sionary beckoned with his hand, and the child, 
with a single bound, came to his knee. 

i Moung-Moung!' exclaimed the father in a 
tone of surprise blended with anger. But the 
child was back again in a moment, with a gay 
colored Madras handkerchief wound around his 
head ; and with his bright lips parted, his eyes 
sparkling, and dancing with joy, and his face 
wreathed with smiles, he seemed the most 
charming thing in nature. * Tax hlah-the ! ' (very 
beautiful) said the child, touching his new tur^ 
ban, and looking into his father's clouded face, 
with the fearlessness of an indulged favorite. 

1 Tax hlah-the ! ' repeated the father involun- 
tarily. He meant the child. 

6 You have a very fine boy there, Sir,' said the 
missionary, in a tone intended to be concilia- 
tory. The stranger turned with a low salaam. 
For a moment he seemed to hesitate, as though 
struggling between his native politeness and his 
desire to avoid an acquaintance with the prose- 
lyting foreigner. Then taking the hand of the 
little boy who was too proud and happy to no- 
tice his father's confusion, he hastened away. 



164 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



8 I do not think that zayat a very good place 
to go to, Moiing- Moung,' said the father gravely, 
when they were well out of hearing. The boy 
answered only by a look of inquiry strangely 
serious for such a face as his. 

4 These white foreigners are .' He did 

not say what, but shook his head with myste- 
rious meaning. The boy's eyes grew larger and 
deeper, but he only continued to look up into 
his father's face in wondering silence. 

c I shall leave you at home to-morrow, to keep 
you from his wicked sorceries.' 

< Papa ! ' 

1 What, my son ? ' 

< I think it will do no good to leave me at 
home.' 

< Why ? ' 

1 He has done something to me.' 

< Who? the Kalah-byoo?" 

1 I do not think he has hurt me, papa ; but I 
cannot — keep — away — no — oh, no!' 
4 What do you mean, Moiing- Moiing ? ' 
' The sorcerer has done something to me — 
put his beautiful eye on me. I see it now.' 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 165 

And the boy's own eyes glowed with a strange, 
startling brilliancy. 

"Mai, -max! what a boy! He is not a sor- 
cerer, only a very provoking man. His eye, 
— whish ! It is nothing to my little Moung- 
Moung. I was only sporting. But we will 
have done with him ; you shall go there no 
more ' 

i If I can help it, papa ! ' 

< Help it! Hear the foolish child! What 
strange fancies ! ' 

< Papa ! ' 

1 "What, my son ? ' 

' You will not be angry ? ' 

' Angry ! ' The soft smile on that stern 
bearded face was a sufficient answer. 

' Is it true that she — my mother ? ' 

1 Hush, Moung-Moung ! ' 

' Is it true that she ever shikoed to the Lord 
Jesus Christ ? ' 

4 "Who dares to tell you so ? ' 

4 1 must not say, papa ; the one who told me, 
said it was as much as life is worth to talk of 
such things to your son. Did she, papa ? ' 



166 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



1 What did he mean ? Who could have told 
you such a tale ? ' 

' Did she, papa ? ' 

1 That is a very pretty goung-boung the for- 
eigner gave you.' 

< Did she ? ' 

' And makes your bright eyes brighter than 
ever.' 

4 Did my mother shiko to the Lord Jesus 
Christ ? ' 

1 There, there, you have talked enough, my 
boy,' said the father gloomily ; and the two 
continued their walk in silence. As the con- 
versation ceased, a woman who, with a palm- 
leaf fan before her face, had followed closely in 
the shadow of the stranger — so closely, indeed, 
that she might have heard every word that had 
been spoken — stopped at a little shop by the 
way, and was soon seemingly intent on making 
purchases. 

4 Ko Shway-bay ! ' called out the missionary. 
A man bearing a large satchel, which he had 
just newly filled with books, appeared at the 
door of an inner apartment of the zayat. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 167 

% ' Ken-pay ah /' 

I Did you observe the tall man who just pass- 
ed, leading a little boy ? ' 

I I saw him.' 

1 What do you know about him ? ' 

* He is a writer under government — a very 
respectable man — haughty — reserved ' 

1 And what else ? ' 

1 He hates — Christians, Tsayah? 

i Is he very bigoted, then ? ' 

1 No, Tsayah ; he is more like a pdramdt than 
a Boodhist. Grave as he appears, he sometimes 
treats sacred things very playfully, always care- 
lessly. But does the teacher remember — it 
may be now three, four — I do not know how 
many years ago, — a young woman came for 
medicine ? ' 

The missionary smiled. c I should have a 
wonderful memory, Shway-bay, if I carried all 
my applicants for medicine in it.' 

4 But this one w T as not like other women. 
She had the face of a ridt-thamee] [goddess or 
angel,] ' and her voice — the teacher must re- 
member her voice — it was like the silvery 
chimes of the pagoda bells at midnight. She 



168 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

was the favorite wife of the Sah-ya, and this 
little boy, her only child, was very ill. She did 
not dare ask you to the house, or even send a 
servant for the medicine, for her husband was 
one of the most violent persecutors ' 

' Ay, I do recollect her, by her distress and her 
warm gratitude. So this is her child! What 
has become of the mother ? ' 

' Has the teacher forgotten putting a Gospel 
of Matthew in her hand, and saying that it 
contained medicine for her, for that she was 
afflicted with a worse disease than the fever of 
her little son ; and then lifting up his hands and 
praying very solemnly?' 

1 I do not recall the circumstance just now. 
But w T hat came of it ? ' 

< They say,' answered the Burman, lowering 
his voice, and first casting an investigating 
glance around him, — ' they say that the medi- 
cine cured her.' 

< Ah ! ' 

< She read the book nights, while watching by 
her baby, and then she would kneel down and 
pray as the teacher had done. At last the 
Sah-ya got the writing.' 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 169 

1 What did he do with it ? ' 
c Only burnt it. But she was a tender little 
creature, and could not bear his look ; so, as the 

baby got out of danger, she took the fever ' 

' And died ? ' asked the missionary, remarking 
some hesitation in the manner of his narrator. 
i Not of the fever altogether.' 

' What then ? Surely, he did not ' 

c No, Tsayah ! it must have been an angel-call. 
The Sah-ya was very fond of her, and did every- 
thing to save her ; but she just grew weaker, 
day after day, and her face more beautiful ; and 
there was no holding her back. She got courage 
as she drew near Paradise, and begged the Sah- 
ya to send for you. He is not a hard-hearted 
man, and she was more than life and soul to 
him ; but he would not send. And so she died, 
talking to the .last moment of the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and calling on everybody about her to 
love Him, and worship none but Him.' 

< Is this true, Shway-bay ? ' 

< I know nothing about it, Tsayah; and it is 
not very safe to know anything. The Sah-ya 
has taken an oath to destroy everybody having 
too good a memory. But,' — and the man 



170 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

again looked cautiously around him, — c does 
the teacher think that little Burman children 
are likely to run into the arms of foreigners, 
without being taught?' 

' Aha ! say you so, Shway-bay ? ' 

1 I say nothing, Tsayali? 

* What of the child ? ' 

4 A wonderful boy, Tsayah. He seems usually 
as you have seen him ; but he has another look, 
— so strange ! He must have caught something 
from his mother's face, just before she went up 
to the golden country.' 

The missionary seemed lost in thought ; and 
the assistant, after waiting a moment to be 
questioned farther, slung his satchel over his 
shoulder, and proceeded up the street. 

The next day the missionary remarked that 
the Sah-ya went by on the other side of the way, 
and without the little boy; and the next day, 
and the next the same. In the meantime, the 
wrinkled old water-bearer had become a sincere 
inquirer. i The one shall be taken and the other 
left,' sighed the missionary, as he tried to dis- 
cern the possible fate of his bright-eyed little 
friend. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 171 

The fourth day came. The old water-bearer 
was in an agitated state of joy and doubt — 
a timid, but true believer. The self-confident 
philosopher had almost ceased to cavil. Fresh 
inquirers had appeared, and the missionary's 
heart was strengthened. 'It is dull work,' he 
said to himself, though without any expression 
of dullness in his face; 'but it is the Saviour's 
own appointed way, and the way the Holy 
Spirit will bless.' Then his thoughts turned to 
the stern Sah-ya, and his little boy; and he 
again murmured, with more of dejection in his 
manner than when he had spoken of the dull- 
ness of the work, < And the other left — the other 
left!' 

The desponding words had scarcely passed 
his lips, when, with a light laugh, the very child 
who was in his thoughts, and who somehow 
clung so tenaciously to his heart, sprang up the 
steps of the zayat, followed by his grave, digni- 
fied father. The boy wore his new Madras 
turban, arranged with a pretty sort of jaunti- 
ness, and above its showy folds he carried a red 
lacquered tray, with a cluster of golden plantains 
on it. Placing the gift at the missionary's feet, 



172 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

he drew back, with a pleased smile of boyish 
shyness, while the man, bowing courteously, 
took his seat upon the mat. 

' Sit down, Moung-Moung, sit down,' said the 
father, in the low tone that American parents 
use when reminding careless little boys of their 
hats ; for though Burmans and Americans differ 
somewhat in their peculiar notions of etiquette, 
the children of both races seem equally averse 
to becoming learners. 

' You are the foreign priest, 5 he remarked 
civilly, and more by way of introduction than 
inquiry. 

' 1 am a missionary.' 

The stranger smiled, for he had purposely 
avoided the offensive epithet ; and was amused 
and conciliated by the missionary's frank use of 
it. ' And so you make people believe in Jesus 
Christ?' 

< 1 try to.' 

The visitor laughed outright ; then, as if a 
little ashamed of his rudeness, he composed his 
features, and with his usual courtesy resumed, 
'My little son has heard of you, Sir; and he is 
very anxious to learn something about Jesus 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 173 

Christ. It is a pretty story that you tell of that 
man — prettier I think than any of our fables; 
and you need not be afraid to set it forth in its 
brightest colors ; for my Moung-Moung will 
never see through its absurdity, of course.' 

The missionary threw a quick, scrutinizing 
glance on the face of his visitor. He saw that 
the man was ill at ease, that his carelessness 
was entirely assumed, and that underneath all, 
there was a deep, wearing anxiety, which he 
fancied was in some way connected with his 
boy. < Ah ! you think so ? To what particular 
story do you allude ? ' 

i Why that of the strange sort of being you 
callJesus Christ, — a nat, or prince or something 
of that sort, — dying for us poor fellows, and so — 
ha, ha ! The absurdity of the thing makes me 
laugh ; though there is something in it beautiful 
too. Our stupid pongyees would never have 
thought out anything one half so fine ; and the 
pretty fancy has quite enchanted little Moung- 
Moung here.' 

< 1 perceive you are a paramat] said the mis- 
sionary. c No, — oh no ; I am a true and faith- 
ful w T orshipper of Lord Gaudama ; but of course 



174 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

neither you nor I subscribe to all the fables of 
our respective religions. There is quite enough 
that is honest and reasonable in our Boodhistic 
system to satisfy me ; but my little son ' (here 
the father seemed embarrassed, and laughed 
again, as though to cover his confusion,) 'is 
bent on philosophical investigation — eh, Moung- 
Moung ? ' 

' But are you not afraid that my teachings 
will do the child harm ? ' 

The visitor looked up with a broad smile of 
admiration, as though he would have said, 'You 
are a very honest fellow, after all ; ' then regard- 
ing the child with a look of mingled tenderness 
and apprehension, he said softly, ' Nothing can 
harm little Moung-Moung, Sir.' 

' But what if I should tell you I do believe 
every thing I preach, as firmly as I believe you 
sit on the mat before me ; and that it is the one 
desire of my life to make everybody else believe 
it — you and your child among the rest ? ' 

The Sah-ya tried to smile, tried to looked un- 
concerned; but his easy nonchalance of manner 
seemed utterly to forsake him in his need ; and 
finally abandoning the attempt to renew his 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 175 

former tone of banter, he answered quietly, ' I 
have heard of a writing you possess, which, by 
your leave, I will take home and read to Moung- 
Moung.' 

The missionary selected a little tract from the 
parcel on the table beside him, and extended it 
to his visitor. ' Sah-ya} said he, solemnly, 4 1 
herewith put into your hands the key to eternal 
life and happiness. This active, intelligent soul 
of yours, with its exquisite perception of moral 
beauty and loveliness/ and he glanced toward 
the child, ' cannot be destined to inhabit a dog, 
a monkey, or a worm, in another life. God 
made it for higher purposes ; and I hope and 
pray that I may yet meet you, all beautiful, and 
pure, and glorious, in a world beyond the reach 
of pain or death, and above all, beyond the 
reach of sin.' 

Up to this time the boy had sat upon his mat 
like a statue of silence ; his usually dancing 
eyes fixed steadfastly upon the speakers, and 
gradually dilating and acquiring a strange mys- 
tic depth of expression, of which they seemed at 
first incapable. At these words, however, he 
6prang forward. 



176 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



' Papa ! papa ! hear him ! Let us both love 
the Lord Jesus Christ ! My mother loved Him ; 
and in the golden country of the blessed she 
waits for us.' 

- ' I must go,' said the Sah-ya hoarsely, and 
attempting to rise. 

' Let us pray ! ' said the missionary kneeling 
down. 

The child laid his two hands together, and 
placing them against his forehead, bowed his 
head to the mat ; while the father yielded to the 
circumstances of the case so far as to re-seat 
himself. Gradually, as the fervent prayer pro- 
ceeded, his head drooped a little ; and it was 
not long before he placed his elbows on his 
knees, and covered his face with his hands. As 
soon as the prayer was ended, he rose, bowed in 
silence, took his child by the hand, and walked 
away. 

Day after day went by, the Sah-ya, as he 
passed the zayat, always saluting its occupant 
respectfully, but evincing no disposition to culti- 
vate his acquaintance farther. He was accom- 
panisd by the boy less often than formerly; but, 
from casual opportunities, the missionary re- 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 177 

marked that a strange look of thoughtfulness 
had crept into the childish face, softening and 
beautifying, though scarcely saddening it. And 
when occasionally the little fellow paused for a 
moment, to ask for a book, or exchange a word 
of greeting, the gay familiarity of his manner 
seemed to have given place to a tender, trustful 
affection, somewhat tinctured with awe. 

Meanwhile that terrible scourge of Eastern 
nations, the cholera, had made its appearance, 
and it came sweeping through the town with its 
usual devastating power. Fires were kindled 
before every house, and kept burning night and 
day ; while immense processions continually 
thronged the streets with gongs, drums, and 
tom-toms, to frighten away the evil spirits, and 
so arrest the progress of the disease. The zayat 
was closed for lack of visitors ; and the mission- 
ary and his assistants busied themselves in at- 
tending on the sick and dying. 

It was midnight when the over-wearied for- 
eigner was roused from his slumbers by the 
calls of the faithful Ko Shway-bay. 

' Teacher, teacher, you are wanted ! ' 

< Where?' 

12 



178 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

The man lowered his voice almost to a whis- 
per, but putting his hands to each side of his 
mouth, sent the volume of sound through a 
crevice in the boards. ' At the Sah-ya's? 

< Who ? ' 

' I do not know, Tsayah ; I only heard that 
the cholera was in the house, and the teacher 
was wanted, and so I hurried off as fast as 
possible.' 

In a few minutes, the missionary had joined 
his assistant, and they proceeded on their way 
together. As they drew near the house, the 
Burman paused in the shadow of a bamboo 
hedge. 

i It is not good for either of us, that we go in 
together ; I will wait you here, Tsayah? 

' No, you need rest ; and I shall not want 
you — go! ' 

The verandah was thronged with relatives 
and dependents ; and from an inner room, came 
a wild, wailing sound which told that death 
was already there. No one seemed to observe 
the entrance of the foreigner.; and he followed 
the sound of woe till he stood by the corpse 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 179 

of a little child. Then he paused in deep emo- 
tion. 

1 He has gone up to the golden country, to 
bloom forever amid the royal lilies of Paradise/ 
murmured a voice close to his ear. 

The missionary, a little startled, turned ab- 
ruptly. A middle-aged woman, holding a palm- 
leaf fan to her mouth, was the only person near 
him. 

' He worshipped the true God,' she continued, 
suffering the individuality of her voice to glide 
away and mingle the wail of the mourners, and 
occasionally slurring a word which she dared 
not pronounce with distinctness ; ' he worship- 
ped the true God, and trusted in the Lord our 
Redeemer, — the Lord Jesus Christ, he trusted in 
Him. He called and he was answered, he was 
weary, weary and in pain ; and the Lord who 
loved him, He took him home to be a little 
golden lamb in His bosom forever.' 

' How long, since, did he go ? ' 

' About an hour, Tsayah? Then joining in 
the wail again, ' An hour amid the royal lilies ; 
and his mother — his own beautiful mother — 
she of the starry eyes and silken hand ' 



180 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

c Was he conscious ? ' 

' Conscious and full of joy/ 

< What did he talk of? ' 

' Only of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose face 
he seemed to see ! ' 

< And his father?' 

' His father ! — Oh, my master ! my noble 
master! he is going, too! Come and see, 
Tsayah ! ' 

' Who sent for me ? ' 

' Your handmaid, Sir.' 

< Not the Sah-ya?' 

The woman shook her head. ' The agony 
was on him — he could not have sent, if he 
would.' 

c But how dared you ? ' 

There was a look such as might have been 
worn by the martyrs of old upon the woman's 
face as she expressively answered, i God was 
here ! ' 

In the next apartment lay the fine figure of 
the Sah-ya, stretched upon a couch, evidently 
in the last stage of the fearful disease — his 
pain all gone. 

' It grieves me to meet you thus, my friend/ 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



181 



remarked the visitor, by way of testing the dying 
man's consciousness. 

The Sah-7/a made a gesture of impatience. 
Then his fast stiffening lips stirred, but they 
were powerless to convey a sound ; there was a 
feeble movement, as though he would have 
pointed at something, but his half-raised finger 
wavered and sunk back again; and a look of 
dissatisfaction amounting to anxiety passed 
over his countenance. Finally renewing the 
effort, he succeeded in laying his two hands 
together, and with some difficulty lifted them 
to his forehead; and then quietly and calmly 
closed his eyes. 

' Do you trust in Lord Gaudama in a mo- 
ment like this ? ' inquired the missionary, uncer- 
tain for whom the act of worship was intended. 
There was a quick tremor in the shut lids, and 
the poor Sah-ya unclosed his eyes with an ex- 
pression of mingled pain and disappointment; 
while the death-heavy hands slid from their 
position back upon the pillow. 

4 Lord Jesus, receive his spirit,' exclaimed the 
missionary solemnly. 

A bright, joyous smile flitted across the face 



182 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 



of the dying man, parting the lips, and even 
seeming to shed light upon the glazed eyes ; a 
sigh-like breath fluttered his bosom for a mo- 
ment; the finger which he had before striven to 
lift, pointed distinctly upward, then fell heavily 
across his breast; and the disembodied spirit 
stood in the presence of its Maker. 

The thrilling death-wail commenced with the 
departure of the breath ; for although several 
who had been most assiduous in their atten- 
tions, glided away when it was ascertained that 
he who would have rewarded their fidelity was 
gone ; there were yet many who were prevented, 
some by real affection, some by family pride, 
from so far yielding to their fears, as to with- 
hold the honors due to the departed. 

' You had better go now,' whispered the 
woman, 'you can do no further good, and may 
receive harm.' 

6 And who are you that you have braved the 
danger to yourself, of bringing me here ? ' 

' Pass on, and I will tell you.' 

They drew near the body of the child, which, 
by the rush to the other apartment, had been 
left, for a moment, alone. 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 183 

4 See ! ' said the woman, lifting the cloth rev- 
erently. A copy of the Gospel of Matthew lay 
on his bosom. 

< Who placed it there?' 

'He did, with his own dear little hand — 
Amai ! amai-ai ! ' and the woman's voice gave 
expression to one swell of agony, and then died 
away in a low wail, like that which proceeded 
from the adjoining room. Presently she re- 
sumed, ' I was his mother's nurse. She got this 
book of you, Sir. "We thought my master 
burned it, but he kept, and maybe studied it. 
Do you think that he became a true believer? ' 

c To whom did he shiko at that last moment, 
Mah-aa ? ' , 

'To the Lord Jesus Christ — I am sure of 
that. Do you think the Lord would receive 
him, Sir?' 

4 Did you ever read about the thief who was 
crucified with the Saviour?' 

{ Oh, yes ; I read it to Moung-Moung this 
very day. He was holding his mother's book 
when the disease smote him ; and he kept it in 
his hand, and jvenl vp, with it lying on his 
bosom. Yes, I remember.' 



184 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

' The Lord Jesus Christ is just as merciful 
now as he was then.' 

1 And so they are all oh, 'ken-pay ah ! it is 

almost too much to believe ! ' 

c When did you first become acquainted with 
this religion, Mah-aa?' 

' My mistress taught me, Sir; and made me 
promise to teach her baby when he was old 
enough ; and to go to you for more instruction. 
But I was alone, and afraid. I sometimes got 
as far as the big banyan tree on the corner, and 
crawled away again so trembling with terror, 
that I could scarcely stand upon my feet. At 
last I found out Ko Shway-bay, and he promised 
to keep my secret; and he gave me books, and 
explained their meaning, and taught me how to 
pray, and I have been getting courage ever 
since. I should not much mind now, if they 
did find me out and kill me. It would be very 
pleasant to go up to Paradise. I think I should 
even like to go to-night, if the Lord w T ould 
please to take me.' 

It was two or three weeks before the mission- 
ary resumed his customary place in the zayat 



WAYSIDE PREACHING. 185 

by the wayside. His hearers were scattered 
widely ; in the neighboring jungles, in far-off 
towns, and in that other place from whence ' no 
traveller returns.' 

Where was his last hopeful inquirer ? 

Dead. 

Where the priest ? 

Dead. 

Where the philosopher ? 

Fled away, none knew whither. 

And the poor old water-bearer ? 

Dead, — died like a dog in its kennel; and 
but that some pitying Christian had succeeded 
in discovering her at the last moment, without a 
human witness. But, — and the missionary's 
heart swelled with gratitude to God as he 
thought of it, — there were other witnesses,, 
nobler, tenderer, dearer to that simple, lone old 
creature, than all the earthly friends that ever 
thronged a death-bed ; and these had been her 
bright, rejoicing convoy to the Saviour's pres- 
ence. 

Oh ! how full of awe, how fearfully laden 
with the solemn interests of eternity, appeared 
13 



186 WAYSIDE PREACHING. 

this wondrous work of his ! And how broad 
and clear seemed his sacred commission, as 
though at that moment newly traced by the 
finger of Jehovah ! 



THE END, 



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